


Into Insanity

by justheretoreadhannibalfics



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Depression, Ghosts, Haunting, M/M, Non-Consensual Possession, Sort of? - Freeform, because Hannibal is a poltergeist, i make my own rules, it takes a while, only sort of a relationship, so it's weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 45,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23307790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justheretoreadhannibalfics/pseuds/justheretoreadhannibalfics
Summary: Will Graham is pulled from his classroom, and into a lab that looks to have a large mushroom garden transplanted into it. After arresting the man responsible, Will finds himself a host to an odd sort of guest. One he isn't sure he likes.---I'm playing around with my writing style a bit, so if you don't like it as much as the others, that's fine.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 155
Kudos: 204





	1. 1

Will tried to ignore the man as he walked in, but he knew the man would not let himself be ignored. The students had just finished filing out of the lecture hall, and they were left with relative quiet as Will packed up his things after a day of classes.

His papers could only provide a few moments of excuse, and Jack Crawford didn’t seem to be planning to afford him even that much.

“Will Graham,” Jack said.

Will nodded, keeping his head down and his movements even.

“I’m Jack Crawford.”

Yes. Jack Crawford. They had met a few times, but this was not going to be a social interaction. Jack had the air of a man on a mission.

“I’ve been trying to find a man who can help me, and your name continued to pop up.”

Will nodded. That tended to happen at times. His set of skills wasn’t overly common, even in the FBI.

“I assume this is where you show me pictures of missing girls, tell me I need to help you save lives, and you have nowhere else to look,” Will said, sliding papers into his bag.

Jack sighed, putting his hands into his pockets, seemingly caught. He rocked on his feet, clearly trying to seem relaxed and casual, despite the topic of conversation that followed him like a clinging fog.

“If I thought that would work,” he admitted, “but I _have_ other places I can turn. I don’t have any pictures in my pockets, but I do need your help.”

Will huffed and adjusted his glasses on the ridge of his nose. 

“Well, I don’t seem to have any room to refuse,” Will said, looking up and settling his gaze on the collar of Jack's shirt.

Jack sighed, his shoulders lifting in an aborted shrug.

“I didn't want you to feel that way, but you're essentially right. Come with me.”

Will nodded and followed Jack to the labs, rather than a briefing room or his office. The sheer number of bodies made Will pause in the doorway.

There were ten bodies laid out on the tables. Each one had clearly been exposed to the elements despite how well preserved they were. There were mushrooms and other plants sprouted from their forms, and they each had one hand that seemed cleaner than the other. 

“He was feeding them sugar water,” one of the men said, bewildered, “They seem to have died of kidney failure.”

Will was handed a file, and he skimmed over the pictures. The straight rows of graves. The exposed arm. The intravenous feeding tubes. It was almost serene.

“How did he get them there?” The other man asked.

“Diabetic ketoacidosis,” Will answered. Everyone turned to look at him, questioning expressions.

“Did you know they're all diabetic?” The woman asked.

The men scrambled around, picking up papers and trying to figure out if they did know that.

“We _don't_ ,” one of them said after a moment, seeming to feel threatened by Will’s presence.

“They are. All of them,” Will interrupted, “he changes their medication, inducing a coma. So he's a doctor, or a pharmacist. He finds them after they go out, and he buries them.”

One of the men furrowed his brow and looked back over the bodies. He seemed to be less nervous than his companion, and continued as if Will’s words were absolute.

“That would give their bodies time to absorb the sugar water, to feed the mushrooms,” he said, sounding impressed.

Will nodded. 

“He's going to want to plant a new garden,” he said.

The horrified expressions all around let him know they hadn't thought of that yet. Jack seemed satisfied, and Will thought he might have just gotten himself into something bigger than just the one case. Jack Crawford almost always got what he wanted, and right now Will had the inclination that his mind was on the menu.

“I'm Beverly Katz,” the woman introduced herself, “you're Will Graham. You wrote the paper on insect activity after death.”

Will nodded, trying to offer a polite smile, but knowing it tended to be a bit unnerving.

“Yeah. That's me. I don't normally do this kind of thing. I teach, actually. Jack pulled me in to consult. Looks like you needed the help.”

Beverly nodded, glancing back to the two men who were now preparing to do more tests and confirm what Will had said. They glanced over frequently, probably trying to figure out how Will did what it was he did. Will knew from experience that even if they were good at reading people, they wouldn’t figure it out.

“Price and Zeller are good at what they do, but they need a hint every now and then. If the look on Jack’s face is anything to go by, I think you might be sticking around for a while.”

Will sighed.

“That's what I'm afraid of. Jack is a hard man to negotiate with.”

Beverly laughed and nodded. She seemed pleasant and friendly, but not intrusively so. Will thought he would be able to get along with her, at least. That gave him some hope for being helpful to Jack and the team.

“Welcome to the team, Agent Graham. I've got fibers and stuff to get to. See you around.”

Beverly walked away, and the two men were now consulting with Jack about something. Will was left with the bodies. He walked over to a table and a slight movement caught his eye. He leaned in and saw the mushrooms shift slightly with his proximity. The spores seemed to sense his presence, and moved closer to him, as if reaching. Will made a note to do some more research on these mushrooms.

“Will,” Jack said, standing just behind him, “What are you thinking?”

Will straightened and turned to Jack. He kept his eyes down on the buttons of Jack’s shirt and counted his breaths.

“I’m thinking this killer knows more about mushrooms than I do,” he replied carefully, “And I need to fix that so I can understand him. Am I good to go?”

Jack considered for a moment.

“Fine. Just let me know if you figure anything else out.”

Will nodded and headed back to his classroom to gather his things. The empty hallways echoed with the sounds of past activity. There had been people who had come through in every state of hurry, and they flashed around Will like ghosts.

\---

Mycelium. 

The word swam around in his head with everything else he knew about the killer. 

There was something about the word that stuck, and he wasn’t sure what it was. He needed to get a firsthand look at some mushrooms. He needed to get into the environment that the killer knew. He needed to head into nature and find some mushrooms. He needed to prove to himself that what he was thinking had actual foundation in reality.

Will pulled on a cap and his hiking boots. 

“Sorry guys,” he said to his pack of dogs as they watched him head to the door, “I need to go without you this time. We’ll go on a walk when I get back.”

The dogs wagged their tails at the word, but continued sitting when he waved for them to stay. 

Will needed the air to be clear, and his mind to be focused. 

The trees rose around him as he dove into the forest around his home. The smell of earth and fresh growth filled his lungs and he breathed it in deep. He drank in the sights and sounds of the forest, once again very glad he lived where he did. There was the soft crunching of decaying leaves under his feat, and the quiet shuffle of his boots over the damp earth. There was a slight hum of activity from insects and small animals as they also moved among the trees. 

Will kept his eyes on the ground, searching for mushrooms. He needed to make sure he saw them well before he walked up to them. He had an idea of what he could expect, but he was making sure. 

There was a gap in the trees, and Will saw a fairy ring. The circle of mushrooms stood by itself, and Will walked closer.

As Will slowly walked up to the circle, the mushrooms moved, almost imperceptibly. It was like the spores could sense his presence, and they reached out to him. He was careful to stay on the outside of the circle, but he watched as the spores reacted to his presence.

Will rose from his crouch and closed his eyes. 

He let the pendulum swing and opened his eyes to his mushroom garden. 

“Something foreign, being able to connect to others. I have never had that ability, and this is how I fix that. These mushrooms, they connect. They connect to each other, and they connect to me. I created them, gave them food and place to grow. They thank me for their creation, and reach for me like children to a father. I know they are the people they eat. Their spirits come from those I placed here, and now they are able to connect with each other and myself, more than they would ever have been able to before. I am not alone anymore.”

Will walked along the row of bodies, watching as the spores followed his progress and reached for him. Their pale forms twitching and turning in the dark earth.

“This is my design.”

Will opened his eyes in reality and breathed deeply. That was how the killer thought. Will could see him now, and see through his eyes. He would be looking for more victims, and his options had not been narrowed. He had not been caught, or even questioned. He simply had to start again.

Will walked back to his house in silence. The thoughts swirled in his head and cemented into something tangible as he set eyes on his home. The sun was starting to move toward the horizon, and Will smiled as he thought of walking with his dogs.

Will turned the lights on in his house and let the dogs out before setting off across the field. The dogs chased each other and ran around, always staying within a few meters of Will. They yipped happily and he smiled as he watched them. 

They stayed out until the sun went down, and Will turned them back toward the house.

He stared across the field, looking at the image his house created in the dark. Like a ship on the sea, alone and calm. Isolated and safe. Will could almost hear the soft thrum of waves brushing the side of the boat, and feel the gentle rocking of the deck under his feet. He looked up into the sky, then, and stared at the fresh stars that could guide him home if he trusted them.

This was the only kind of thing that really made him feel safe. These moments.

Fireflies rose from the grass, lighting up the night around him like there was no separation between the sky and the ground. He looked up to the stars, and was surrounded by stars. He was suspended between two endless skies. There was nothing else but his little family of dogs, his ship on the sea, and the stars that filled the empty space surrounding it all. 

Once Will was in his house, and the illusion of isolated safety broken, he made up some food for the dogs. He watched them eat in slightly dazed silence, feeling the lingering serenity being leached from his body by the lights and sounds in the smaller space.

The killer was lonely.

Will always tried to keep from sympathizing too much with the killers he studied, but it was always difficult. This one was especially hard. The killer walked through a crowd of people and felt more alone than ever. He felt unseen and unknown. 

The feelings were some that Will also had, though they were caused by an opposite catalyst. 

The killer was lonely because he could not make connections to others. Will was alone because he made too many and it distanced him from whoever he met. 

Some, deep dark part of Will hated the idea of stopping this killer. They were creating their own connections, and choosing not to be alone anymore. The vision of walking through a field and having the people in the ground reach to you like no one ever had was beautiful in it’s own way, and Will hated the idea of destroying it.

Maybe that was why he decided it could wait until the next day. He could tell Jack what he had figured out when he went into Quantico tomorrow. There wouldn’t be any harm in waiting just that long. They all needed a good night’s rest, and worrying about what this killer might be doing would not help that. Jack wouldn’t know any better, and it wouldn’t hurt anything.

Will lay in bed and closed his eyes, falling into a dreamless sleep as he usually did. 


	2. 2

“He doesn’t understand other people, Jack,” Will explained, walking between the tables with bodies, “He feels like he can’t connect. The spores of the mushrooms can sense a living presence. They move like they are reaching out. He feels like this is how he can connect. He just doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”

Jack grimaced.

“This is one sick guy,” He said.

Price and Zeller were there, but they didn’t seem to be doing anything other than watching Will and Jack talk. Zeller did not like Will. It was clear by the way he looked at him, always frowning and seeming to be unnerved and on edge. Will had that effect on some people, so he wasn’t surprised, but it did disappoint him somewhat. 

Price was more curious than repelled, which didn’t make Will feel much better. Price watched him from a distance and observed him in the same way he looked at the mushrooms. He saw Will as something to be seen and learned from. Nothing more than an interesting insect.

“He thinks he’s getting away with it,” Will continued, “Even though you found his first garden. You haven’t found him, so he doesn’t feel threatened at all. He’s not going to wait very long to find a new fertilizer.”

Price grimaced at the idea, but seemed to understand what Will was saying.

Jack frowned, realizing what Will was implying, and turned to the two agents that had been watching silently until then.

“Zeller. Find anything yet?” he demanded.

Zeller straightened quickly and turned to his computer.

“Still working on it,” he replied, tapping away on the keyboard like it would make the computer go faster, “but it’s getting narrowed down. We should have something soon. This guy is going to become fertilizer before he makes anyone else into it.”

The joke landed about as well as a goat being chucked into a bayou, and Jack was not pleased. Price stifled a chuckle, covering his mouth to hide his smile, but Jack only scowled at the both of them.

Beverly walked in as Jack walked out, and she stopped to stand with Will, both of them looking down at one of the bodies. This was the one that had lived until only a block away from the hospital in the back of an ambulance. He had fewer mushrooms than the others, being fresher and having been handled by so many people. Will could imagine the horror he had woken to, being in a shallow grave, with his flesh decaying and covered in fungus. The sounds of investigators milling around above the ground as he stared up into the sky, partially obscured by trees, for the first time in a long time. The panic that ensued when he moved or made a sound, and being taken away in a flurry of activity before dying.

“There isn’t much I can do at the moment,” Beverly said, interrupting Will’s train of thought, “There were lots of fibers and things, but we can’t be sure if any of it came from the killer, or if it was all just in the dirt to begin with. How are you doing?”

Will wasn’t used to anyone asking, except maybe Alana. Alana usually wanted to make sure he wasn’t being damaged, so the genuine, not concerned friendly tone from Beverly was almost an entirely new experience for him.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, I guess,” Will answered, “You?”

Beverly shrugged, but there was a smile in her voice when she answered.

“Same here. No one can possibly be okay, doing what we do, but I’m relatively good at the moment. I think Price is enjoying this case a bit more than is necessary.”

They both glanced up at where Price was standing, leaning over one of the bodies and staring with endearment at the mushrooms that covered the form. He seemed like he was almost on the verge of talking to them in the soft lilting voice people usually reserved for babies or loved pets.

Will huffed a laugh, ducking his head so Price wouldn’t see.

“At least someone can get enjoyment from this,” he said.

Beverly hummed in agreement.

“I can’t figure out why Jack hasn’t brought you in sooner,” she said, turning toward him and shifting her weight, “you sure seem like someone he would have wanted to take advantage of before now.”

Will nodded, trying not to grimace.

“I’m not actually a field agent,” he reminded her, “I didn’t get through all the screening procedures.”

Beverly nodded, folding her arms and looking him over.

“They identify instability. Are you unstable?”

Will glanced up at her. 

She wasn’t malicious in her question. She was just bluntly curious. She wasn’t judgmental about him not being a field agent. She just genuinely wanted to know more about him, and what made him so unique. 

“Being able to do what I do lends to a certain amount of instability,” Will answered wryly, trying to offer her a smile.

Beverly nodded. She accepted that as the answer, and Will knew she wouldn’t ask about it again. He really might be able to work well with her. She didn’t want to dig, and didn’t really care about what was going on as long as he wasn’t completely unwell. 

Zeller stood up quickly, turning to scan the labs for Jack. Beverly shook her head when his gaze landed on her, and he sighed heavily.

“We found him,” He said, waving them over, “I’m pretty sure. He’s a pharmacist, and he works in a pharmacy where several of the victims got their meds from. We don’t know about some of the others, but he seems to be the common factor linking them.”

Will looked at the screen as Zeller spoke.

Eldon Stammets. Will could see the loneliness in his eyes and the wrinkles of his face. The skin on his forehead and around his eyes was tired, and his mouth naturally sagged into an unaffected frown. 

Will nodded sharply.

“Yeah, he fits. I’m pretty sure it’s him,” Will said, glancing back up to Beverly and Zeller.

Zeller raised an eyebrow, but Beverly seemed pleased enough.

“Pretty sure?” Zeller asked.

Will shrugged.

“It’s probably him, but I don’t see faces in what I do. I just see thoughts and actions. This guy looks like he fits the profile, but it still could be someone else. Let’s go get this guy.”

“I agree,” Jack’s voice boomed, making Beverly and Zeller jump. Will had heard him walk in, so he didn’t even turn at the sound. “Let’s go get him.”

Beverly and Zeller nodded, quickly scurrying to gather what they needed and Price stepped away from the mushrooms to follow. Jack walked up to Will and watched him, looking for some kind of reaction.

“I want you to come with us,” Jack said.

Will shook his head, taking off his glasses to wipe them off with his shirt. He avoided looking Jack in the eye as he did.

“I’m not really a field agent, Jack. I’m here to help you profile and find the killer. I shouldn’t be out there trying to catch him.”

Jack shrugged in a way that told Will he didn’t really care about what should be done. He knew what he wanted, and he was going to get it like he always did.

“I want you to come. This guy doesn’t seem violent, from what we can gather. I don’t think it’s going to be a problem. I want you to talk to him. I think we can get him to talk, but I want you there.”

Will knew he wasn’t really being given an option, so he just nodded as he slipped his glasses back onto his face. He dropped his hands to his sides and tapped his fingers against his leg, counting his breaths. Jack was satisfied, and turned to talk to the rest of the team. 

Will continued counting his breaths until Jack called for him and they all set out to the pharmacy where Eldon worked. It was a small shop where one could wait for their prescription to be filled while they looked at rows of candies, chocolates, and small glass figures, all of which were overpriced. The pharmacy was in the back in order to force customers to walk by the shelves of trinkets and snacks before reaching their true destination.

“Eldon Stammets!” Jack called.

The men in the pharmacy all looked up with surprise, and Will could see that none of them were the man they were looking for. None of them were lonely and desperate for connection like the man they were after.

“He was just here.”

“Is his car in the parking lot?” Will interrupted.

Eldon had been given enough time to get another victim. He probably had them in the trunk of his car, or at the very least he would have left some evidence of them. He hadn’t known he would be caught, so there had been no reason in his mind to exercise more caution than he had been.

Jack turned to him when he spoke. Will kept his gaze down, but his expression set with certainty. Jack turned back to the men behind the counter and spread his hands expectantly.

“His car!”

The team was pointed toward a car, and they headed out to the lot. Will walked quickly up to the car, letting his gaze catch on everything he needed to know.

It was small. The doors were locked, and the windows up. He could see items in the passenger seat and on the back bench, but he filed them away for later. 

Will asked for a baton and smashed the front window. He popped the trunk and released a damp earthy, decaying odor into the air. It looked like the trunk was full of dirt, but Will plunged his hands into the earthy substance and uncovered the woman. He brushed the dirt away from her face and the mask over her mouth and nose. Paramedics rushed forward to take her from him, and Price came back out to say they had checked the man’s internet history.

“The very head of the Behavioral Science unit of the FBI is on the case. Jack Crawford, sometimes referred to as the Guru, heads a team bent on tracking down the gardening killer. There are reports he has even gone so far as to recruit a teacher from the academy in his desperation for success. Things do not bode well for a man who stoops so low.

Will Graham, a teacher in Quantico, has been asked to consult on the case on the premise that he has an uncanny ability to think exactly like the killers being hunted. One is brought to wonder how he could be capable of this, if not because he is capable of being a killer himself.”

There was a shot of the scene with the mushrooms, the team stooped over the bodies and working. Under that, there was a picture of Will that looked like it had been taken from outside the Quantico building as he left work. 

Price watched Jack and Will as Beverly read the article aloud, trying to gauge their reactions. He had warned Jack that what they had found would make him unhappy, but he was clearly still unsure of exactly what to expect from him in his anger.

“It’s by Freddie Lounds,” Beverly said, sounding more disappointed than actually angry. 

Jack set his jaw, clearly recognizing the name and not being happy about it.

“She really has a habit of making a mess out of things,” Jack said, his voice low and threatening, “First the shrike cabin, now this. If anything else happens, and she’s in the middle of it, I’m bringing her to court.”

Will got the sense that Jack was utterly serious, and this woman had done something truly reckless in the past. If this was anything to go by, it was a pattern of behavior that may have served her well in the journalism field, but would earn her few friends in the law enforcement area.

The team got out of there and headed back to the labs, Jack calling everyone he needed to get a search on for Eldon Stammets. They had no idea where he would go, or what he would do now, and there was a general sense of having somehow failed. 

Will was silent as they worked, standing outside the little store and breathing in the cold night air. He looked up at the stars that could guide him to safety, or to his death like a willow the wisp. Put too much trust in something intangible and you find yourself lost.

Will knew what Eldon would do, though not with any real certainty. 

Eldon was many things, but above all he was lonely. In that article that Freddie Lounds had written, she had mentioned someone who could connect with others, even killers, in a way that no one else could. Eldon would not be able to resist the temptation. He just needed to gather more Intel. 

It was only a matter of time before Will met this gardener.

Curiosity drove him to remain quiet about his thoughts. If he were to be wrong, he would have diverted resources for no reason, and that would anger Jack. If they found Eldon too soon, Freddie would never have the chance to meet him and maybe feel some consequences of her recklessness. 

No, it was a much better idea to let things play out how they would for the time being.

Will was allowed to go home once Jack decided they were not going to be apprehending anyone that night, and he made the drive home in silence. He would often play the radio, but sometimes he forgot. Those were the days when his thoughts were so loud he didn’t notice the world moving around him, and he became lost inside himself. These were the times where he could become completely unaware of others trying to talk to him, or notifications on his phone. Even if he had remembered to turn the radio on, he would not have heard the voices of the hosts, nor the music it played. All of his thoughts were as loud as the world around him, and they consumed him. If anyone had asked what he was thinking about, he would not have been able to articulate his thoughts. They were like stardust, yet to accumulate into anything that could be seen.

Will let the dogs out and walked through the field with them again, maintaining his silence as he simply found there were no words to say. He didn’t care to pull himself from his thoughts in order to speak to the dogs, but none of them cared much. They had seen him in nearly every state, and a silent yet habitually caring one was the least of their worries.

Even the sight of the house, illuminated in the dark as he walked back was not enough to rouse him from so deep within his mind. He simply let the dogs in and gave them each a portion of food. He moved with practiced precision, reenacting his daily routine without the aid of his mental faculties. 

The dogs hunkered down in their beds for the night, and Will settled in himself. His thoughts would keep him awake for at least an hour, but he was glad he would have the peace of nothing once he managed to drift off to sleep. 

The peaceful void enveloped and consumed Will when he finally slipped from reality.


	3. 3

Will’s head had let him sleep in peace, but the moment he woke up he was swimming in wordless ideas and connections. The drive to work was uneventful, and Will was ready for a day of lectures unless Jack decided he was needed. 

Will slipped out of his car and heard footsteps run up behind him as he grabbed his stuff. When he straightened, there was a click from a gun. Will almost smiled, knowing exactly who he would see when he turned around. 

“Please don’t make me shoot you,” Eldon said. 

His voice was shaky and hoarse. He probably hadn’t slept since he managed to evade them. Will turned around to see that he looked just as rumpled as could be expected from a man who had been on the run, without a car, and had been looking for Will. There were speckles of blood on his clothes, and Will tipped his head curiously.

“Someone else already did, didn’t they?” he asked.

Eldon’s shoulders relaxed a touch, and he seemed relieved.

“Yeah. I shot a police officer this morning,” he said.

Will’s phone started ringing, but he didn’t make any move to answer it, staring directly at Eldon instead.

“Why did you come here, Eldon?” Will asked as they both ignored the ringing phone.

Eldon shifted his weight, but he seemed almost comfortable enough to lower the gun.

“Freddie Lounds. She told me about you. She said you can understand me.”

Will nodded.

“I do understand you. I know why you took those people. I understand why you planted them to grow the mushrooms. I know you.”

Eldon smiled, and the expression softened his face, making him look a bit younger. Will thought he probably looked older than he really was, having years of anxiety over not being able to make meaningful connections to others.

“I’ve never had anyone know me, or understand me before,” Eldon confessed, his hand shaking.

Will nodded, leaning back against his car to show how relaxed he was despite the gun aimed clumsily at him.

“You have always felt alone, because you can’t seem to connect the way other people do. Even in a crowd, you were completely alone. In the field, where the spores reached for you and recognized your presence, you could feel seen. You were noticed, and you could connect.”

Eldon lowered the gun, nodding. He seemed to almost be on the verge of tears at Will’s words.

“I am as alone as you are, Eldon,” Will ventured, “I can walk through a crowd and make connections to everyone I see, but they distance themselves. They can’t see _me_ , and they are afraid of me.”

Eldon clicked the safety back onto the gun. He was not going to shoot Will. Will had already known that, but Eldon had just realized it. He was trembling, likely from exhaustion and relief at finally being seen. 

“Hannibal told me no one would ever understand me,” he said.

Will froze. 

Who was Hannibal? He hadn’t had any accomplices. Was Hannibal even a real person? He hadn’t thought this guy was _that_ crazy. He hadn’t seen any hallucinations in his head. Had he been wrong?

“Who’s Hannibal?” Will asked, knowing it was a gamble, but needing to know.

Eldon shook his head.

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone about him,” he said, before thinking twice, “he found me some years ago. I don’t know exactly what he is, but he is always there with me, and he tells me things. I’m not crazy, you understand that. I don’t know how to explain it. Hannibal tells me.”

Will was rethinking his decision that the man was not hallucinating, and had to think quickly. If he _was_ that kind of crazy, then he wasn’t as predictable as Will had thought. 

“I understand,” Will said, keeping his tone calm and friendly, “and I think you will understand when I tell you I have to return that call. My friend will get worried if I don’t let them know I’m alright.”

Eldon hesitated, but nodded. He kept his fingers tightly on the gun in his hand, twitching like he might decide to shoot Will anyway.

Will lifted his phone and saw that he had two missed calls from Jack. He redialed and put the phone to his ear.

“Will, I was getting worried, don’t do that. Are you alright?”

“No, it’s fine. I was driving, so I didn’t answer. You know I shouldn’t talk on the phone while I’m driving, Bev,” Will answered.

“Will, this is Jack. Eldon Stammets got to Lounds. She told him about you. Has he tried to contact you?”

“Oh, I know,” Will said, rocking against the car casually, “I just got to work, but I’m not feeling too well anymore. I might skip today.”

“Will, is he there with you?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s crazy how that happens. My students are lucky I don’t wear a gun into class. I think they understand I would end up shooting a couple of them.”

“We’re on our way. Try not to get shot. Keep him distracted.”

“I was already planning on it, Bev. Don’t worry. I know how to take care of myself when I’m sick. I was thinking about making soup. Mushroom soup is pretty good for that kind of thing.”

Eldon was getting increasingly nervous, his hand on the gun shaking.

“Will, is there anything you can tell me that might help?”

Will huffed a laugh.

“You know I don’t like to park too close to the doors. People are jerks about getting the good spots. I prefer a walk over a fight. But I have to go, Bev. I really am feeling a bit off and I need to take a breath before I go home.”

“Alright, Will. Be careful. We’re almost there.”

“Okay, talk to you later.”

Will ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He looked at Eldon with an expression of complete unassuming openness. Eldon was still nervous, glancing around like he might be seen with Will.

“Who was that?” he asked.

Will smiled and shrugged.

“Beverly Bloom,” he said, “she’s _really_ friendly, and just about the only person not scared away by me. She is really possessive, though, and worries about me too much. I don’t know how to get her to leave me alone.”

Eldon was nodding, slowly relaxing again, and Will was careful to say things that would keep him from worrying. The last thing he needed right now was a bullet through his skull, and that was all he would achieve by riling up a murderous schizophrenic.

“So, Eldon. What made you realize you wanted to come talk to me? I mean, I knew I wanted to talk to you since I saw your mushrooms, but I can’t figure out how it went the other way.”

Eldon looked around again, seeming to slowly decide he was safe enough.

“The article. It said you could think just like a killer. I wanted to know if that was true,” he answered, “But I needed to get to Freddie Lounds to find that out.”

Will shrugged.

“Or you could have just come straight to me,” he said, “but I guess if I turned out to be different from what you wanted, I would just feed you to the FBI. I see why you went for Freddie first. What did she say about me?”

Will had been very eager to find out what Freddie actually thought about him since the article had come out. She had made him sound crazy, because that was what would sell, but he wondered exactly what she knew. He doubted he would be able to figure out where she heard about him, but he wanted to know what she had heard.

“She said you’re insane, and you can get into the minds of killers. She thinks it’s only a matter of time before you kill someone, but she said she really would like to interview you herself. She said she would let you try to change her mind. She said you aren’t real FBI, because you are too unstable.”

Will nodded at each of these. 

Technically, she was right about that last one. He wasn’t officially FBI, unless you counted officially being a teacher for them. He hadn’t made it through the screening, and so he had never been in the field as one of them. 

Calling him crazy was a bit much, though, he thought. He hadn’t ever done anything worth calling crazy. He had never hallucinated, or thought he was the czar of Russia or anything. He just had a few more voices in his head than his own.

“I wonder where she got all that from,” Will mused to himself.

Eldon shifted his weight and rubbed one hand over his blood spattered shirt. He seemed to be considering his next action carefully, as though he couldn’t decide if Will was ready for it or not.

“I took care of that.”

Will snapped his head up.

“What?”

Eldon smiled.

“The police officer I shot. He was with Freddie because he had been talking to her about you. She said he heard the FBI talking about you at my garden. He told her a lot of what she wrote.”

Will grinned.

“Well, thanks for that, then. I owe you one. It’s just a shame you didn’t off her as well. She’s the one spreading the info like a brush fire. I guess you had to make a deal with her, though, and it’s better to be a man of your word.”

Eldon seemed very pleased with Will’s words, and his grip on the gun was loosening as he relaxed. 

_Man_ , maybe Will should have started doing this earlier. This was way too easy. Being in someone’s head made manipulating them easier than predicting them. Will could be a hostage negotiator or something. Crazy people seemed to listen to him.

“Drop the gun! Hands in the air!”

And there was Jack.

Eldon whipped around and lifted the gun to aim at the agent, but he had forgotten the safety was on. Will stepped forward and grabbed the man’s wrist, pulling the gun from his grasp. The other agents swarmed onto the scene and Will handed the gun to Jack.

Eldon didn’t seem to understand that he had been sold out by Will, staring at him like a shore when he was stranded at sea. Even as he was cuffed and dragged toward a car, Eldon looked to him for support.

“But, you understand,” he said, his voice growing weak.

Will looked back at him, keeping his expression unaffected.

“No,” he replied, “I don’t”

Eldon was taken away, and Jack allowed the noise to fade to quiet before he spoke.

“You did a good job today, Will,” he said, “you kept your head and caught the bad guy. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Will shook his head.

“You would have figured it out. There just wouldn’t be a dead cop on your hands, and he wouldn’t have had anyone to go after. He might not have run if he hadn’t decided to come for me.”

Jack folded his arms, staring at Will. Will kept his gaze down on the asphalt under his feet, knowing what Jack was going to say.

“There’s a young lady named Gretchen Speck who would say we’re all better off with you working on the team,” he said, “She would be buried somewhere, waiting to grow mushrooms, if you hadn’t led us to this guy when you did.”

Will nodded, knowing he was not going to get anywhere with Jack at that time. 

“I need to go home,” Will said, keeping his voice steady and flat. 

Jack looked him over, and apparently decided that Will had earned a day off after getting Eldon behind bars. Will hated being pitied, but sometimes it was his best tool to keep people from forcing him into situations he couldn’t handle.

“Alright,” Jack said, nodding and pulling out his phone, “I’ll get someone to cover your lectures. Go on home and recover. You need to get back into working order as soon as possible.”

Will nodded and tossed his bag back onto the passenger seat before climbing in. He turned the radio on, trying to keep himself distracted as he drove away. The drive back to his home was agony, as he tried to keep himself from thinking of what he had just done. 

When his house came into view, Will smiled to himself despite the looming despair in the back of his mind. He felt as if he was almost safe, almost where he could forget, and almost where his dogs would be there for him. 

When Will pulled up, he heard a few scattered barks from the dogs, and he felt an intense longing for something he was about to have. He wanted desperately to be surrounded by his dogs, and to be able to pet them and hug them, have their affection for him flood his mind and overtake the terrible things he had filled it with in their absence.

Will opened the door and was smothered in happy licks and yips as the dogs jumped up to greet him like he had been gone for days. 

Will grinned and knelt down to hug and talk to each of the dogs, feeling his heart lift. There was nothing better for his mental health than his pack of dogs. He always felt like they took the bad things from his mind and softened them, or simply erased them.

“You’ll never guess what I did today, fellas,” Will said, sitting down among his pack. 

Winston crawled into his lap, wagging his tail gently. He was glad Will was home, and so were the others. Will waved at them all to sit down, and they did so obediently, though they were each eagerly edging closer to him with each shift. 

Will sighed, feeling happier than he had in awhile.

“I met a crazy man,” he began, “and that man wanted to be my friend. He asked a woman what I was like, and she told him I was like him. He wanted us to be the same, but we aren’t.”

Will continued this way until he had related the entire tale to his patient dogs. He had once felt silly for speaking to them this way, but over time he had decided it didn’t matter much. No one knew that he did, and he could tell the dogs understood more than most people would give them credit for. It was his own form of therapy for himself, because talking about things really did make him feel a bit better, but the dogs were the only ones who wouldn’t judge him for it.

Eventually, exhaustion took him over, and he had the beginning of a panic attack. He trembled and tensed, trying to keep from hyperventilating. The dogs comforted him until he managed to relax enough to fall asleep. 

Will didn’t really care that he was about to sleep on the floor, in the middle of his pack of strays. No one would know, and he needed the company. He needed the comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave a little hint in this chapter, and you will get a real introduction to Hannibal in the next one. Really had to set the stage for what I've got planned here.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all finally meet Hannibal. He's an odd sort in this fic. I hope you enjoy.

Will woke when Winston growled.

Will sat up and looked at his dog. Winston was staring toward the kitchen, and his fur was standing up. His ears were flat against his head, and Will knew he was afraid of something. 

Will looked into the kitchen and didn’t see anything. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Will said, extending his hand to Winston as he slowly got to his feet. He split his attention between his dog and the kitchen, even though there wasn’t anything in there.

It wasn’t like Winston to give false alarms. Buster was jumpy and liked to bark at nothing, but even he was still asleep. It was only Winston who seemed to be frightened.

“Look, I’ll go into the kitchen and check it out,” Will said, brushing his hand over Winston’s ears to try and soothe him.

Will made his way into the kitchen, running a hand through his terribly mussed hair to try to keep it out of his eyes. 

There wasn’t anything that immediately caught Will’s eye, but he knew he was still waking up, so that meant little. As observant as he was, sleepiness was a variable he was not comfortable disregarding. 

Rubbing his eyes, Will did notice one thing that was out of place. 

His entire block of knives had been emptied onto the counter. There was his one nice, wooden cutting board out, and impaled with his biggest knife. Will sighed, feeling like he was going crazy. He stepped forward to get a better look.

**Empath.**

The single word, carved into the board, made Will stop. He blinked, trying to make sure he was seeing things right. He must be going crazy, now. He had to be. No one could have come into his house without getting the attention of at least one of his dogs, and Winston didn’t seem to be seeing anything. He was just _feeling_ something.

Will pulled the knife from the board and carefully put them all back into the block where they belonged. He then turned back to the cutting board and picked it up. He ran his fingers over the engraved word, that seemed to have been done with care and precision. The letters were not ornate, but they were clean and deep. 

Very few people knew that term in relation to Will. The better minds in the psychiatric field would say that he had a unique cocktail of an abundance of mirror neurons and several neuroses. The lesser minds would say he was antisocial and unstable. He was still unsure which set of diagnoses was more accurate.

Empath was a term that he had only heard a few times. It was one he had discovered for himself, and had kept. He hadn’t tried to use the term as an excuse, telling others that that was what he was. He didn’t want it overused and misunderstood by all the people that would hear it if he tried to use it for himself. It was a term that he could have, and feel, but that was his own, as far as he was concerned. 

“Well, I can assume whoever did this goes by the name Hannibal,” Will announced to the house, “So I guess I should thank you for not hurting my dogs. I don’t know what you want, or why you decided to follow me home, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mess with my stuff. I’d like it even more if you would just leave. I don’t have time to be haunted.”

Will put the cutting board back in the cupboard, shaking his head at himself. Talking to his dogs was one thing, talking to some imaginary force was just ridiculous. He needed some coffee.

As Will prepared his coffee, the dogs slowly woke up, each at their own pace. Buster was up and bouncing before most of the others, but they had learned to sleep through his antics. Will propped the back door open so they could go out as they needed, and he could watch as he drank his coffee.

There was a flutter of movement that caught Will’s eye from near his desk, and he turned to inspect it more closely.

The stack of essays that had been sitting on a side table had been knocked slightly askew, and one of his sticky notes had been creased so the underside was facing up. The pen he had left near the stack was now laying near the note, and had clearly been used to write the message there.

_ Paper, please. _

Will huffed. He really didn’t have time for all of this.

He dug around a bit and found some blank paper. He took the small stack along with the pen and set them both down in a clear space on the kitchen table.

Taking his mug back up, Will turned around with his hands spread.

“There. Is that what you want?”

He leaned against the counter and took a sip, eyeing the pen curiously.

Will didn’t flinch when the pen lifted. It swayed in the air a bit, as if the weight was being tested, before it set to writing on the paper all by itself.

Will watched until the pen stopped moving and was set back down on the table. 

He was definitely going crazy. What was that term Alana had used once? She hadn’t meant for him to remember it, he was sure, but there it was. Folie a deux. Had he caught Eldon Stammets’ crazy?

Will walked over to the table and picked up the top paper. The handwriting was neat and even, the lines perfectly straight despite there not being any guiding reference. It was elegant, but practical, like the wording used.

_ Agent Will Graham, _

_ Thank you very much for the paper. I find this the easiest way to communicate. I am sorry for causing you any inconvenience with the knives, but I had to ensure I garnered your attention in full. I would not have deigned to hurt your dogs, unless of course they posed any threat to me.  _

_ I am intrigued, perhaps more than is safe for myself. Eldon should not have been caught for another week or so, unless someone such as you intervened. I will be honest with you and say that I had not counted on anyone being so quick to identify him. You must be an invaluable asset to the FBI.  _

_ I noticed your reaction to the word Empath. It occurs to me that you may not use that term to describe yourself with others, choosing to leave it unsullied by their clumsy misunderstandings. Nevertheless, that is what you are. You can seamlessly slip from your mind, into the minds of others, and see and feel as they do. This seems to disturb you on a deep level.  _

_ Are there no effective barriers in the bone arena of your skull? _

_ I hope you do not mind my presence here. I shall not inconvenience you unless you prove unbearable in some sense. I have dealt with much less interesting hosts, so I find that unlikely. _

_ Hannibal _

Will rubbed a hand over his face.

“Yep. It has finally happened,” he said aloud, “I’ve gone crazy. Alana was right. I shouldn’t have been sent out. I’ve caught whatever crazy Eldon had, and now I’m seriously hallucinating. My own mind finally turned against me like I always knew it would. Great. What will I tell my students?”

The bitter sarcasm in his voice seemed to prompt a response from the pen, which he watched as it again was taken up to write on the next piece of paper.

_ Will _

_ You have not caught crazy, as you put it. You have merely caught my attention.  _

_ I believe Doctor Bloom would say whatever it is you are experiencing is far from Folie a Deux. She would likely have wished for you not to be sent into the field because she feared you would be damaged, but she is not as aware of your ability as you and I are. She would not have thought that you would climb so far into the skull of another that you might not find your way out.  _

_ If you must go into work today, I would suggest continuing as you normally do, and I will be sure to not give you any reason to doubt your sanity. It would not serve me to have you institutionalized due to my presence. _

Will shook his head to himself.

He was having an actual conversation with whatever this was, and he was definitely completely crazy. Maybe he should talk to Alana about this. There was definitely something wrong, and she might be able to help him figure it out.

She would also probably worry about him and make Jack leave him alone, and the look of pity in her eyes would break him. He hated when she pitied him, and he refused to let that happen with his full participation.

Will got ready for work, resolute in his decision to act as he normally would. There would be no concern for his mental health, above that which there normally was.

\---

“Hi, Will. How are you doing?”

Seeing Alana in his classroom was neither a surprise, nor an entirely unwelcome sight. Will had wondered if she was involved in his involvement with Jack, and her being there let him know that she was. She must have been some sort of character reference. She was here now, because she worried he had gotten too close.

Will glanced up to her shoulder, the purple flowers in the fabric of her shirt springing to life and swaying in the breeze his mind created for them. He could imagine the smell of them, tulips, poppies, and violets. The warm rustle of their leaves, petals, and stems brushing together as they shifted. Alana had always been able to give him a sense of comfort, despite how she pitied him.

“I’m doing just as well as usual,” he replied, careful not to be too relaxed. He had to give the illusion of normalcy, and he was never relaxed. “How are you? You don’t stop by very often.”

Alana smiled, but it was soft, like she had been caught in something she had hoped wouldn’t be that easy to see. She ducked her head ever so slightly, and huffed a nearly silent laugh.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, after everything that happened.”

Will nodded, spreading his hands and shrugging.

“I’m still here, teaching, breathing, and I don’t feel any different from before. I suppose that can count as being okay,” he offered.

Alana was silent for a moment, and Will knew what she wanted. He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, which he usually tried to avoid. She always wanted to see if she could discern anything from eye contact, and Will made sure she couldn’t.

Will kept his eyes nervous, but his emotions closed off. He never let on what was really wrong with him, especially through eye contact. His eyes would never say too much, or too little. Only exactly what he let them. He carefully counted his breaths.

“Jack told me he wouldn’t let you get too close,” Alana said, prodding more than accusing, “do you think he’s going to keep that promise?”

Will huffed a short laugh, shrugging slightly as he tore his gaze back down to his papers. They were scattered over his desk like half-abandoned thoughts that had once meant so much, and now were taken away in a gust of wind, never to be had again.

“As long as it keeps me where he wants me, he’ll do what he has to. If he thinks that means keeping me at a distance, he will. If he thinks that means dropping me into the lion’s den, he’ll let me have a tether to climb back out when I’m done. He’s not my friend, Alana, at least not yet.”

Alana pressed her pretty lips together, clearly not happy with the idea. She had known all of that, Will knew, before she had come to him. She asked Will about it to make sure he was not disillusioned about his role on Jack’s team. She wanted to make sure Will was walking into the labyrinth with his eyes opened, and his head on his shoulders. 

“I should tell Jack to take you out of the field,” she said, “I don’t think it will be good for you.”

Will lined the papers back up so they now resembled more of a book than a scattering of forgotten ideas. He shrugged again, knowing exactly what Jack would make of that.

“I’m not your patient,” he said flatly, “and Jack will get different opinions until he finds one that suits his needs. You’ll only slow him down, and make him less likely to talk to you again. He gets what he wants, Alana.”

Alana crossed her arms. She had known that too. Will wondered if she had come here to have him talk her out of all the things she had wanted to do, but knew wouldn’t turn out. She didn’t need him to tell her what Jack was like, or what he would do. Maybe there was still another reason for her coming.

“Jack is going to ask you to talk to Stammets,” she said at last.

Ah, there it was. The real reason she had come. Will was only sorry she had tried to disguise it the way she had. It didn’t do her any favors to seem like she was trying to be his friend, and protect him, when she was really just trying to get into his head from a different angle than anyone else.

Will nodded.

“You don’t like that idea,” Will noted, glancing back up at her to emphasize his point.

Alana sighed.

“I don’t see what good can come of it,” she admitted, “but apparently he has been asking for you by name. It’s weird, and Jack thinks he might be able to get something out of him if you go in.”

Will nodded again. 

The idea of seeing Eldon again was not exactly something that Will relished, but he could see why Jack would want him to. Jack had not been there for their conversation. He had only glimpsed the kind of trust Will had managed to build over the course of a short time, and he must be curious as to what they discussed. How Will had done it.

As if on cue, Jack walked in. Alana didn’t notice him until he was just a few feet behind her. She should really work on that. She would be too easy to ambush. 

“Doctor Bloom. I assume you just told Will what you have been arguing with me about all morning,” Jack said, not sounding angry. He sounded like he had expected nothing less, and was actually pleased with Alana for having done so.

“You don’t have to,” Alana told Will, ignoring Jack in a brave move, “You can say no.”

Will looked up and set his gaze on Jack’s collar.

“I’ll go,” he said, “I hear Eldon wants to talk to me again.”


	5. 5

Eldon snapped his head up when the door opened, and his eyes grew wide with awe and excitement when they landed on Will. Will wondered if he should have actually tried to look a bit more rumpled or tired than normal, to give everyone the illusion that his “ordeal” had taken a mental toll on him. Perhaps that would have wiped the pleased look off of Eldon’s face. 

Eldon was silent all through the guards letting Will in and Will taking a seat across from him at the table.

“Hello again, Eldon,” Will said, his voice calm despite the memories that pelted the backs of his eyes as he looked at the man in front of him.

Eldon tipped his head, as if trying to get a better look at Will. Will waited, knowing Eldon had wanted to say or ask something, so he would not waste this chance. He would just have to wait for the right moment.

“You told me you don’t understand me,” Eldon said, the betrayal evident in his voice, “When they were taking me away.”

Will nodded.

“I do understand you, Eldon, but you have to understand that I can’t let everyone think I’m crazy, or that I’m going to kill anyone. I understand you, but I’m not like you. We’re not the same.”

Eldon sighed heavily, slumping down into his seat. 

“You could have been,” he said miserably, “we could have created a field of people, and they would have been able to whisper. You wouldn’t have had to hear everything like screams. It could have been so peaceful, and they would have reached back in the way you always reach to them. Everything could have been perfect.”

Will breathed deeply, knowing his eyelashes were fluttering on his cheeks. A few people had told him that happened when he did this.

He could see it behind his eyes. The field that would have quieted all the shouting words. The people would finally understand, reaching to Will with the empathy he was incapable of refusing them. The ground under his feet would hum with the energy from their shared minds, creating pathways between themselves and understanding what each of them wanted and loved.

“I know,” Will said, “I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know what you wanted. I just can’t let you do that. The people that you buried, they didn’t want that.”

Eldon shook his head.

“Hannibal is gone,” he said, “he left me when they took me away. He would be bored in prison. I know that’s why he’s gone. He never really cared about me, just what I was doing. I know he went to find someone else he can work with to create beautiful things.”

Will tipped his head. He would be able to get Eldon into the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane if he kept talking about the ghost. That would be better than going to a normal prison, or being put to death. After everything, he wanted Eldon to stay alive and cognizant. It was sort of a way for him to protect those like him. He knew they weren’t the same, but he would want someone to help him if he were in that situation. Eldon wouldn’t last more than a week among the other inmates.

Perhaps, part of his reasoning was also selfish. He wanted to know more about what he was dealing with.

“Then tell me more about Hannibal,” Will prodded, “Since he’s not around to be upset with you. I want to know more about him.”

Eldon hesitated, flicking his eyes around the room like he would be able to see Hannibal there.

“Alright. I don’t know what exactly he is,” Eldon said. His voice was shaking, but Will thought that might just be part of how he spoke. “It started when he wrote a message on my hand while I was sleeping. I thought I had done it, but then I realized that it didn’t make any sense. He asked for me to put some paper on a table, and a pen. Then he started writing to me.”

Will nodded, encouraging him to continue.

So far, everything sounded like what he had recently become afflicted with, save for the writing on his hand. Hannibal seemed to have changed his approach since Eldon.

“He was polite, at first. He told me he understood me, and that he could help me make connections with people. I started having weird dreams, but it was okay because he was helping me. He told me how I could change their medications, and then find them. I could bury them and use them to feed mushrooms. He started scaring me, once, when I thought I was going to get caught. A police officer came in to ask me about the first missing man, and I panicked. Hannibal didn’t like that.”

Will was invested completely now. He needed to know what had happened, and what he was dealing with.

“What did Hannibal do, Eldon?”

Eldon was visibly shaking now, clearly frightened by the memory. He glanced around again and wet his lips.

“I woke up the next morning, and there was a knife at my throat,” he said, “I’ve never seen Hannibal, but I know he’s real. He let the knife set on my neck while I worried. I thought he would kill me. I really did. I don’t think he would have even buried me in the clearing if he had. I don’t know why he didn’t, but his notes after that were more demanding. He was upset with me, disappointed. It was always his plan.”

Will was silent. What would Hannibal do if Will upset him? 

What would happen if Will did everything Hannibal wanted him to?

A guard opened the door and Will stood. He was still in his mind, but his body moved on autopilot. Eldon looked up at him helplessly, and Will could only shake his head before he turned and left. 

Jack waited for him, and raised an eyebrow when he saw the dazed expression on Will’s face.

“You alright?” he asked gruffly.

Will nodded.

“I think he should be declared insane. He has been hallucinating, and I think he will improve with treatment. We can learn from observing him. I’m sure he will be an interesting subject to study.”

Jack nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off of Will. He seemed more concerned than he really ought to be.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Will?” 

Will looked up over Jack’s head.

“I’m just thinking, Jack. I have to get myself out of his head, now. It takes a minute. I’ll be fine once I clean his voice from my head. Did I accomplish what you hoped for?”

Will counted his breaths as Jack considered how he would answer.

“You did more than that, Will. You did a good job with this one. I hope you’ll keep on for the next one.”

Will nodded. He wanted to help, but there was something else. He wanted to continue to dip his fingers into the darker side of humanity. It was thrilling, and something he definitely should avoid, but it was addicting. He was hooked. 

“I’ll stay on, Jack. You know I will. You might have to get through Alana, though. She has her own ideas.”

Jack nodded, considering it. He pressed his lips together, thinking about the potential conflict. He wouldn’t be happy to fight with Alana, but he was more than willing to, in order to keep Will on his team. 

“I’ll have to get another opinion,” Jack said, making Will almost smile at being proven right in that moment.

“I want to go home now,” Will said, tearing his eyes back down and staring at his shoes. 

Jack seemed to take pity on him, much to Will’s disdain, and nodded.

“Go home. I’m not always going to be able to let you go like this, so take advantage of it while you can. I want you to get some rest. You look pale.”

Will nodded and turned to get back to his classroom. He needed to get his things before he could make the long drive home. He counted his steps down the hall, listening to the soft taps of his shoes on the floor. He listened to the steady rushing of his breath, and the echoes of his movements off the walls around him. He could hear distant activity, the sound bouncing along toward him like distant disturbances of the surface of a lake. 

Walking into his lecture hall, Will felt more than saw that Hannibal had been there. His papers were slightly off from the way he had left them, and he scanned over the top of his desk to find what he was looking for.

_ Will _

_ Why did you agree to speak with Eldon? Is there some part of you that cannot help but sympathize with him, and wish to help him despite what you know he has done? Perhaps because of what he has done? _

_ Ask me anything, and I will be honest with you, Will. You needn’t go to him to learn of me. His retelling also left pieces of information out, which you obviously know.  _

_ You are very clever in your manipulation of Jack Crawford. He truly believes you are delicate, and to be handled with care. A teacup of the finest china, only to be used on the most important occasions. You and I both know that is not quite the truth, don’t we? _

_ It was pleasant to see Alana again. I hadn’t had the pleasure in a few years. She seems to be doing very well, and you have her very well duped as well. She pities you, poor thing. You neither deserve, nor want pity from anyone.  _

_ I anticipate our return home, as we cannot very well hold a conversation unless we are in the house. _

_ Hannibal _

Will huffed at the letter, shoving it into his bag with the other papers. As much as he didn’t want to wake up to a knife at his throat, Will was not going to pander to some psychoanalyzing freak that decided he deserved to be treated with respect while haunting him. Hannibal was going to get a piece of his mind, and Will would handle whatever the consequences were. It was his hallucination, after all, he deserved to have some control over all of this.

The drive home felt shorter than usual, but Will spent the entire time choosing what words he wanted to throw in the face of his new poltergeist.

Will greeted the dogs as usual before walking into the kitchen with his arms crossed. He didn’t know where Hannibal was, so he just glared around the room, feeling silly but determined.

“Hannibal, you had better get in here and show me you’re listening,” Will declared, staring at the paper and pen. 

The pen lifted and scrawled a quick  _ Yes, Will _ on the top paper.

“Alright,” Will said, “First off, I don’t like people to psychoanalyze me, so cut that out. I avoid psychiatrists with the exception of Alana, and that’s because she doesn’t do that. Second, I’m not going to kill anyone for you, and I don’t want you to try to convince me to. I’m sure there’s some way to get rid of you, so don’t try me. I’m not Eldon Stammets, and I’m not easy to manipulate.”

There was a pause before the pen lifted and carefully wrote out Hannibal’s response.

_ I understand your worry, Will. I had not meant to make you uncomfortable with my questions and observations. I have the tendency to become curious about psychological cases that are unique, and I have never encountered anyone as interesting as you.  _

_ I had no plans to attempt to convince you to kill anyone. You are entirely capable of making those decisions yourself. I was merely helping Eldon when he was incapable of realizing the fullness of what he desired.  _

_ I can see that you are not easy to manipulate. You clearly allow others to think you are, merely as a tactic of manipulation that you use on them. You allow Jack to think you are weak, and delicate, so that he will not push you farther than you want. I commend you in your intelligence. It is a rare thing for anyone to impress me, but you have exceeded all of my hopes and expectations. _

Will took a deep breath and counted as he exhaled. Hannibal was really trying his patience with all of his attempts to flatter him. He was trying to make Will comfortable with his presence, and Will was not going to give it to him.

“Listen. I don’t know what your endgame is here, but I don’t want to be part of it. You can stay as long as you don’t mess with me or my dogs. I don’t really care what you do, as long as you understand that.”

_ My endgame, as you say, is merely to have the opportunity to observe you. You may rest assured that I do not intend to deal any harm to either you or your dogs. As long as you are civil to me, I would find it rude to be anything but the same in return.  _

_ I would be grateful for the opportunity to converse with you concerning my observations, though I understand that may be too much to ask of you at this time. Despite your desire to be left alone, I find myself unable to entirely agree to that. My curious nature simply will not allow it. _

Will chuffed.

“Your curious nature,” he scoffed, “I bet you’re going to tell me you can’t help leaving creepy messages on the mirror next, or that you have to flicker the lights. It’s all just part of your ghost nature.”

The pen bobbed in the air, as if the holder was sighing heavily. It made no move to reply. Then, it promptly fell to the table with a snap, and didn’t move again.

Will stared at it for a moment. He hadn’t expected that, but he supposed it shouldn’t surprise him. For all he knew, ghosts were temperamental like that. He might have even just gotten rid of his unwanted guest. 

Will kept an eye on the paper for the rest of the evening as he went about his usual routine. The dogs didn’t seem bothered, aside from Winston. He would periodically freeze, tip his head, and stare into space before snapping back to reality and continuing as if nothing had happened.

That night, Will didn’t take them out on a walk, but they didn’t mind. They all curled up in their beds, happily nudging each other and settling in. Will smiled at the sight of his little family as he lay in his own bed and closed his eyes.


	6. 6

Will was dreaming. He knew he was, but that only added to the oddness of the situation. He never had dreams. Even when he had been younger, and had dreamed like the other children, they had been mundane, and he had never known he was dreaming while still immersed.

Will darted through the trees. The dead leaves crunched quietly under his feet, and his breath created puffs in the air. The air wasn’t cold, but his breath was. It froze on the way through his lips, hanging on the air like snow. 

He was being chased.

There were no other sounds in the forest around him, and there was nothing to see but trees and brush in the moonlight, but he knew he was being chased. 

There was something coming to get him, and he needed to stay ahead of it. 

His hiking boots fell with more weight than Will would have liked. If he could be more quiet, maybe he could hide from his pursuer. He looked down at the ground where his feet were treading, and saw that there was more than just leaves beneath his shoes.

Small bones were intermingled with the foliage, and his steps began to snap them after he became aware of them.

Despite the eeriness of the sight, Will felt only subdued curiosity. He felt no fear from the bones, nor at being pursued, he realized. This was not a chase. It was more of a competition. He didn’t need to escape at all.

He needed to win.

A low growl came from behind him, and he turned as he walked.

There was an enormous stag, weaving through the trees on his tail. It had a feathery mane, and eyes that glistened like obsidian. It was watching Will, like a predator, but it’s steps were not hurried. It was not chasing him. It was tracking him.

The hooves of the beast did not disturb the undergrowth, or the mix of leaves and bones underfoot. It walked with complete silence, and Will only then realized that he had stopped his own progression in order to observe the creature.

“I don’t dream,” Will found himself saying, as if someone had hit play on his voice.

The stag stopped, tipping its head to look at him. It seemed curious, and Will wondered what was happening. This was not real.

“I don’t dream,” he said again, addressing the creature this time, “not anymore. Why are you doing this?”

The stag shifted its weight, almost like an unsure human, and bobbed its head. Its eyes never wavered from Will, and they seemed intelligent. 

The scene around them changed, and Will was suddenly standing in a city square. It seemed to be somewhere in Europe, the architecture too old to be from the states. The stag stood, still a distance from him, and watched his reaction.

He stared at everything, the streets empty and lit by only moonlight from behind clouds. Shadows flickered in his periphery, and drew his gaze. It was like being in a horror movie, the way they stretched and moved, but Will still felt no fear. This was not real. He only observed with his own curiosity as the cobblestone courtyard changed once more.

Will was now staring down a line of shadows that shifted and never took form. It reminded him of a firing squad, and even more so when they each raised a rifle and aimed at him. They smiled, each a sight like a blade in moonlight. They were people, and they were monsters.

The stag was in their midst, and it watched him clinically.

Bang, bang, bang.

The rifles fired, and Will watched the progression of each bullet to his body. They tore through his flesh, and he felt sharp pain where they made contact. He watched himself fall, and bleed on the cold asphalt.

He still was not afraid. 

He only met the eyes of the stag, in almost a challenge. This is not real.

_ What makes Will Graham tick? What makes him tremble? What breaks his resolve? _

The questions rumbled through the ground under Will’s body, taking on a tone and timbre that he didn’t recognize, yet felt terrible and wonderful at the same time. He understood that the voice came from the stag, despite that not being it’s true form.

Will blinked, and he was met with blinding white walls.

A pang of surprise hit him in the gut, and he looked down at himself.

He wasn’t bleeding, and there was no evidence he had been shot. There was no more pain, but there was finally fear.

The brown leather bit into his wrists and arms as he tried to free them from the hospital bed he had been fastened to. His ankles and waist were lashed down in the same fashion, and a pair of cold hands grabbed his head to hold it down. A strap was placed over his forehead, and fastened down, immobilizing him. 

Will shook, and wanted to scream. 

_ Oh, you’re afraid of being crazy. _

The voice sounded amused, and the scene shifted slightly. This couldn’t be real. It wasn’t. Will knew it wasn’t.

Then why was he so damn afraid?

Will was in a straight jacket. He had a muzzle on, that seemed to be there to keep him from biting people. Everything was holding him so still, yet he shook, and he struggled. The white seared his eyes and blinded him, yet he couldn’t escape the sight of himself as hands fastened him to a hand truck of sorts, and he was tied down with more security than he thought could ever be necessary. No one could escape these binds.

Will screamed.

\---

Bolting upright in his bed, Will found his clothes and sheets soaked with sweat. 

His breath was coming hard and fast, and it felt like his heart would either vibrate out of his chest with the speed it was going, or give up from exhaustion. Even his hair was dripping with sweat.

The dogs looked up at him, concerned and surprised. They had never seen him this way.

Winston whined quietly, moving closer to the bed, though he knew well enough he was not allowed up on it.

Will shook himself awake and stripped off his shirt before walking into the kitchen. He needed some coffee.

Will cursed loudly at the sight of his kitchen, and he was angry. He was livid.

His knives had been moved again, but this time not so harmlessly. They each stuck out of his counter, aside from one that was stuck deep into the ceiling. Another message had been carved for him.

Just like in his dream, Will felt no fear in the face of what could be considered danger.

Will pulled over a chair and yanked the knife from the ceiling, feeling a light dust fall into his hair from the action. He cleaned and put away all the knives, pointedly ignoring the words that now literally loomed over him. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

If Hannibal wanted to fight, he was in for a surprise.

All Will Graham had ever known in life was fight, and he didn't back down. Flight was for cowards, and Hannibal must have known by then that very little scared Will. 

Will made himself a lot of coffee, and fed the dogs as he drank it. He watched as they ate, and then he let them out while he dressed. He prepared for work just like every other day, because it really was. Nothing different, he told himself. Just a regular day for Will Graham.

The world was as still as death, seeming to hold its breath as Will started his car. Even the forest across the field seemed oddly still. He switched on the radio, and the familiar melodies felt like an intrusion, breaking the silence of the world around him, but Will left it on. He was going to do everything as normally as he could.

Despite his resolve, the words he had seen that morning seemed burned into the back of his eyes, and he cast one last glance at his house as he pulled away.

_ Are you insane? _

\---

In the lecture hall, a place Will had always felt at least marginally safe, the odd things only continued. 

The classroom door closed and locked by itself, just as the first students walked up to it. Will sighed heavily and walked over to let them in. It forced him to come into closer contact with the students than he would usually allow, but he couldn’t just leave them out there. They each smiled at him as they entered, brushing past him as he propped the door open. He returned the looks with a smile as far from a grimace as he could manage.

As the students settled in, Will set up his presentation. He clicked the projector on and walked to the screen as it warmed up. 

Will pulled down the old rolling screen, and it immediately shot back up, hitting the top with a clang.

All the students jumped, a few pencils falling to the ground.

Will sighed again, and pulled the screen down again. He held onto the short rope to keep it from ascending so fast again. It stayed where he put it for a moment, before it tugged at the rope and he pulled it back down again.

Will frowned, pulling it down with a snap of finality, and glared at it.

If Hannibal was behind this, may god have mercy on him and protect him from Will.

The screen stayed as Will walked back to his desk to arrange his papers, and the hum of the projector became pleasant white noise as the light slowly brightened to shine on the stubborn screen. Will plugged his laptop in and ignored the quiet rustle of the students as they sat and talked to each other.

The day was to be filled with him teaching kids about the decay of a body after death. 

Delightful.

The hum of activity slowly grew until Will walked around his desk to stand before them. They recognized this as a signal to clean up their act and pretend to pay attention. He was pretty good at nonverbal communication, and he was glad he didn’t have to say more to his students than was necessary.

As he opened his mouth to begin, lifting his hand to gesture at the slide, the lights in the room went out. 

There were a few startled shrieks before the students fell into deathly silence.

Will grit his teeth and had to refrain from sighing again.

He walked over to the door and found the light switch in the dark. He flipped it on and turned back to the class, who just stared on in stunned quiet.

The projector was off too, and Will didn’t have the patience to start it back up. 

“Someone must think themselves very clever,” Will stated, taking his spot in front of his desk, “but haunted classroom or not, I am going to teach. If the lights go out again, I give you all permission to use your phones to light your notebooks in order to take notes. I will continue my lecture as if nothing has happened. I’m not in the mood for pranks today.”

There were a fair amount of shocked glances exchanged between the students as Will started in. He didn’t flinch when the screen behind him snapped shut again, and he only continued speaking as he picked up some scattered papers after they fluttered to the ground in an invisible breeze.

The students seemed distracted that day, and he couldn’t really blame them. Stuff like this had never happened. He hadn’t even ever forgotten to charge his computer before class. Aside from his appearance, he was very put together.

The class ended, and crowds of students exchanged positions as he once again tried to start the projector. It came to life with a quiet hum, but immediately switched off. 

“Hannibal,” Will said under his breath, tone threatening.

In all honesty, Will wasn’t sure what he planned to do to Hannibal if he continued antagonizing him, but he was far from beat. Hell, he would call an exorcist if it came down to it. He would feel stupid, but he would do it.

He pressed the button again and the power came on before turning off again. 

Will frowned at the projector, but shook his head and set about preparing himself for the next lecture. The students must have been smarter than they seemed, because a few looked like they noticed he was having an off day before he even spoke.

That’s how Will Graham’s day went. He went from class to class, ignoring the antics of his most recent acquaintance, and teaching despite them. 

He half expected his car to stall on the long, empty road to his house at the end of the day. He was relieved that Hannibal seemed more interested in having a chance to write his stupid notes to him than actually cause him any trouble that day. 

Will walked into the house, and the dogs immediately noticed how tense and upset he was. They shifted nervously around him, and didn’t smother him with affection as they usually did.

Will slapped some paper onto the table along with a pen, and had to calm himself by a margin before he could speak.

“Hannibal, the hell spawn that has decided to bother me, you had better get over to that paper and talk, or I swear I will call an exorcist,” Will declared.

The pen seemed to be snatched up, and the movements were sharp as it tapped once against the table.

“Explain. Now.”

Will knew he was being rude, and that whatever ghost had taken up residence here would be upset, but he had run out of patience for the day. He wanted it all to end, and quickly.

The pen stilled in the air, and Will could imagine its holder steeling themselves in the same way, preparing to be as cordial as they could manage.

_ Will _

_ I am a bit put off by your actions. I have never encountered anyone such as you. I am indelibly curious about you, but I would like to be spoken to with a kinder tone. I have done you no harm, and there is really no cause for you to be so sharp with me. It was your own rude reaction to my words that began the happenings of today. You have no one to blame but yourself. _

_ Hannibal _

Will laughed aloud, the sound bitter on his lips.

“Really? You mean I can’t blame the stupid pooltergeist that is making my life harder than it needs to be?” He scoffed, “I don’t remember doing anything that should make you feel the need to sabotage the education of those kids. I could get over the weird obsession you have with my knives, and intruding into my head, but my job needs to be safe. I let you stay here, so far, and I haven’t gotten a thanks.”

Will hadn’t meant to say that last bit, but he had gotten carried away. He honestly didn’t care if Hannibal thanked him for letting him haunt his house. Why would he? He was a stupid ghost.

_ I apologize, Will. I see I, too, have been very rude. It was very kind of you to allow me a trial period in your home, and I only responded with unwieldy demands. I can now understand your anger with me. _

_ Forgive me. I have never had the gift of empathy, which you possess in plenty. You have humbled me, and forced me to face my own shortcomings. I suppose my situation too easily lends to the building up of pride, and I have fallen victim. _

_ If you would allow me another trial, I would be eternally grateful. _

Will sighed, cursing himself for actually understanding how Hannibal must feel.

What seemed like an eternity, unseen, and unknown. Able to influence only through small actions and written words. No physical form to be seen as, but almost infinite power when it came to weak or damaged minds. 

Almost godlike.

“I need to know you are not going to keep messing with my things,” Will said, “and that you are not going to try and beg for forgiveness if you mess up again. I might be a sucker for letting you get away with it this once, but I will not extend that same mercy to you again.”

_ Whatever you wish, Will. _

The words seemed disappointed, and Will knew he should extend some token of appreciation. Despite Hannibal’s trespassing, he hadn’t actually damaged anything other than the ceiling, and he hadn’t hurt either Will or his dogs. The ceiling could be easily fixed, and Will felt a bit guilty for having been so rude, despite the circumstances.

“Alright. If none of that happens, and you don’t try to make excuses, then I will consider talking to you.”

It couldn’t hurt to talk to a ghost, could it? It wasn’t like Hannibal would go around writing his secrets on the foreheads of his colleagues, or be able to do anything about his mental problems. People had always told him he needed to talk with someone. Who were they to tell him it couldn’t be a ghost?

When Will snapped out of his thoughts, there was one last message written for him.

_ Thank you, Will. _


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another dream, because I like them a lot.

Will walked along in the field, feeling the cool breeze ruffle his hair. The tall grass brushed along his legs, reminding him of the fur of his dogs when they swirled around him in excitement. The thought would have brought a smile to his face, if he hadn’t felt so inexplicably sad.

The huff of breath at his elbow drew his gaze, and he set his eyes on the same stag he had seen before.

“I told you,” Will said, his tone wistful despite himself, “I don’t dream.”

The stag bowed its head as if in agreement, but offered no comment. Will was glad it didn’t seem to speak much. He wasn’t sure he could handle that on top of the other weird things the dream was sure to bring.

Will turned his eyes back to the sky and stared into the clear, endless blue. It was daytime, in this dream. Will didn’t know why that surprised him. He had expected all dreams to be set at night, like the time they occurred. It was nice, feeling the sun shining on his face, despite not being able to identify where it resided in the sky. He could smell the earth beneath his feet and the warm grass. It was nice.

“If you are going to turn this into a nightmare, I would like a few moments to enjoy at least this,” Will said, not really caring if he was heard or understood. 

There was a light chuff, and the sound of a hoof pawing at the ground.

Will closed his sun warmed eyelids and sighed.

“Alright. I guess you have another experiment you want to do? I’m not sure what else you can find out just from scaring me awake.”

He looked over and the stag shook its head, pawing more insistently.

Will smiled at the sight. It reminded him of his dogs, in the way it seemed to be trying to communicate. He knew it had a voice, but it was relying on his ability to understand. Something in that spoke of trust.

“You want to show me something?” Will corrected himself, a bit surprised.

He had expected the stag to be simply a tormentor of his subconscious. He hadn’t expected it to actually have any goal in mind. Was this some type of coping mechanism he had come up with in order to deal with the fact that he was housing a literal ghost?

As if hearing his thoughts, which Will decided would actually make some sort of sense, the stag turned. It flicked its head, as if beckoning him to follow, and turned to walk through the grass as it grew taller.

Will followed, right behind the creature. When the grass grew too tall, and he could no longer see over or through it, he simply followed the sound of it rustling.

The tall, yellow stems soon began to thicken as he ventured through them. Soon enough, he was walking through what seemed to be bamboo, and then the forest seemed to thin as the plants continued to grow. 

When he stood in a thick, dark forest, the stag stopped just in front of him.

Snow covered the ground, and moonlight shone down through the bare branches. The cold bit through his clothes and chilled him right to the bone. It was bitter, and the wind made it into a knife that seemed to cut through his flesh and strip him bare.

The stag turned to him, seeing his skin turning bluish. The creature shifted on its feet and brushed up against him, filling him with warmth. 

Will could not understand why the beast had taken pity on him, but he nodded gratefully to it. The stag dipped its head and turned back to where it had been leading him.

There was a cabin, through the trees. It stood in the middle of a clearing, and there was a single lit window, just near the door. The stag looked at the building with what seemed like sorrow, and Will was beginning to see it as more of a person than a beast. It seemed to emote, and understand.

Will laid one hand along the back of the stag, and was ever more grateful for the warmth it gave as they made their way into the clearing. The wind whipped around them, and even the feathers of the beast were ruffled by the gusts. It walked steadily forward, and Will wondered what he was going to be shown.

The snow slowly turned dark under his feet, though he could still see the crystals of ice proving it was not bare ground. There was something staining it, and spreading as if it had life of itself. There was a coppery smell in the air, but it was mingled with others, like fire and gunpowder. The muscles of the stag tensed under his hand, but the creature continued onward.

Will searched the ground, fortunately illuminated by the moon, until he found what he was looking for.

There was a pile of rubble that seemed to have suffered an explosion, only a few meters ahead, but a fair distance from the cabin. It was old, he could tell. It hadn’t been a recent accident, but the remains still smoldered as if they would burn into eternity. 

There were bodies too.

Will wished he could be free of death, at least in his dreams, but here he was. A pair of the dead seemed to have taken their last breath while crawling and reaching toward the cabin, or something inside it. They were the source of the blood. They lay in full flesh, sprawled out on the frozen ground. Will wondered if they would still be warm to the touch. The other bodies lay as skeletons among the rubble, though they were no less fresh than those that bled into the snow, and colored it black in the moonlight. 

The stag’s body rumbled with a sound of remorse, and Will turned back to it. It cast one mournful look to the bodies in the snow before turning back toward the cabin and forging onward. Will wondered what might be there that was more of a concern than what lay outside.

Coming up to the window, the stag nodded to it, bidding Will to look in.

Will did, feeling as if he had little choice. 

Despite how the previous dream had gone, he felt growing apprehension in the situation. His heart fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird, and he removed his hand from the stag as he peered into the glowing frame.

A fire glowed in the hearth, casting a menacing glow around the room. Broken furniture littered the floor, apparently harvested for wood in the freezing winter. A few plush children’s toys lay among the rubble, forgotten. A metal tub sat by the fire, bubbling with dark red liquid. 

The bubbles were large, thick, and slow. The viscosity of the liquid was not like water, or what a soup would normally be made of. 

Blood.

The word came to him, and he wasn’t sure if it was just his own conjecture, or if the stag had supplied it by way of explanation. 

He watched the tub bubble for a moment, his limbs slowly losing their feeling from the bitter chill in the air. 

There was something else in the tub, mixing and flowing with the blood. There were pale flashes as it mixed from the bubbling. Will wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was, but he was frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away.

When the small skull floated up where Will recognized it, he tore his hand away from where it had laid on the window sill. His tongue burned like he had sipped something hot, and the rest of him felt frostbitten. His stomach churned like he was going to throw up, but he couldn’t move. His eyes were still fixed on the small window that showed such horrors.

There were a few sharp cracks from behind him, and Will finally managed to move.

He turned to look back on the stag, but it was gone. 

There were scattered black feathers, and a crouched form among them in the snow. It had the same span of antlers, but when it raised its head, Will could see it was not the same creature. 

The body was human, though the limbs were too long, and the form too thin. It was almost skeletal, but shone black like polished obsidian. It fixed Will with a blank expression, though it tipped its head as the stag had done.

So, it was the same creature, just a different form. 

It crawled toward Will, using all four of its limbs like it was unsure how to maneuver the body it was in. Will was once again unable to move, but he recognized that there was an insatiable curiosity mixed with his fear. 

It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. 

But had it been?

The creature tipped its head again, as if reacting to his wondering. Will decided it could definitely hear his thoughts. It was in his head, after all.

_ They fed her to me. _

The voice rumbled along the ground, through Will’s bones, and rattling his teeth. Despite his fear, Will wanted to know. He needed to know.

“Who was she?”

The sharp fingers extended past him, brushing the window. The creature radiated disgust, and sorrow.

_ My sister. She was very young. We were all starving. They killed her. They fed her to me. I was too young and weak to refuse. They made me what I am today. _

Will looked at the creature. 

Despite the arm just over his shoulder, the rest of the beast was at a fair enough distance that he could look over it. 

By all logic and reasoning, the sight should horrify Will. He should be repulsed, and wish to remove himself from its vicinity. It reminded him of the tale of the Wendigo, even by the origin of the beast. Cannibalistic, cold, and almost human in nature. 

“Is this what you look like?” Will asked, reaching out despite himself. His fingers almost brushed the smooth skin of the creature’s rib cage, and he could feel warmth radiating from it. “To yourself? You didn’t always look this way.”

The creature recoiled, pulling away from Will like he had burned it. Its wide, inky eyes were swimming with surprise and confusion.

_ I have nearly forgotten my human form. It has been long since I was seen in any form other than that of a beast. Most do not see me at all. I am not confident I could conjure it at this point. _

Will let his hand fall to his side, disappointed for some reason. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

The creature snapped its head up and glared at him. The features of its face didn’t change, but Will could feel the anger.

In one swift motion, the creature had its long fingers around his neck, and it bared its teeth against his throat. His breathing was slowly restricted, and the creature didn’t release any breath against his skin as it leaned close.

_ Do not pity me. _

Teeth tore into flesh, and blood spurted against the exterior of the old cabin. 

\---

Will woke up, feeling cold despite the sweat he was once again drenched in. He shivered against the cold of his own skin. 

Winston defied the rules, and jumped up onto the bed, nuzzling into Will’s shoulder and licking away the sweat. He whined quietly, and Will buried his face into his fur.

Nightmares were something he was sure he was never going to get used to.


	8. 8

Things had been going fairly well with Hannibal since their conversation about haunting. The ceiling had been fixed overnight, and nearly every day Will woke up to the smell of fresh coffee. 

Will suspected Hannibal was also reorganizing his food while he was asleep, but he didn’t really have any reason to scold him for it. Even Winston had calmed down about his presence, only giving away his location by happy glances and occasional woofs.

There had been one day when Will woke up to find his stacks of papers straightened. 

That had been the instance that made Will feel obligated to hold up his end of the deal. 

“Alright,” Will said, setting the paper and pen on the table, “You’ve been okay. Ask whatever you want, but I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

The pen lifted instantly, and scrawled out the reply with enthusiasm.

_ Thank you, Will. _

_ I confess I have very nearly suffered for want of asking you about yourself. _

_ Perhaps I should begin with something relatively easy. _

_ What was the reason you agreed to help the FBI track down Eldon Stammets? _

Will chuckled, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He took a swallow and mulled over his answer. He lifted the glass and let the Saturday morning rays shine through the amber liquid, refracting into glimmers of starlight against a sunset sky.

“Relatively easy,” he mused, “I worry about what the harder questions are. First off, I didn’t have much of a choice. Jack gets what he wants, and making it harder for him is just going to make my life more miserable. Not to mention, I know I can help, so I didn’t have any reason to refuse to save people’s lives. You said yourself that you didn’t expect him to get caught for another week. He could have killed another three or four people in that time.”

The pen tapped on the table, as if in thought.

_ Fair enough. _

_ Do you find that the prospect of saving a few lives is a fair trade for your mental health?  _

_ Surely you have noticed that you are not doing as well as you were before. You are preoccupied and distracted nearly always. The deaths you witness weigh on your conscience like waterlogged clothing. _

Will shrugged, taking another drink from his glass.

“Shouldn’t saving lives be worth the sacrifice of one mind?” He gave by way of an answer, “I’ve noticed that I’m not as well as I used to be. It’s the price of imagination. It isn’t really the deaths that weigh on me. It’s the killers. Each of them take up refuge in my skull, and I can’t get rid of them. Someday, I think I won’t be able to tell which voice in my head is my own. I’ll lose myself to the chatter.”

_ Saving lives would be seen as worth nearly any sacrifice if you asked an average person. You and I are far from average. The loss of your mind would be a travesty to the world, I think. There is no unit of measurement that can be used to compare the loss of a mind to the loss of a life. Each person must decide for themselves how they measure up. _

_ It is concerning to hear that you have no effective barriers in the bone arena of your mind to protect that which is yours from that which is the killers’.  _

_ What do you think may happen when you lose yourself to the chatter of your mind? _

Will really didn’t want to talk about that, but something in the back of his head kept making excuses for him to.

Hannibal was just a ghost. Maybe even a figment of his imagination. It couldn’t hurt. What could Hannibal possibly do with the information? Talking it out would only help him in the long run.

Will downed the rest of his whiskey, letting it burn on the way down.

“I think I’ll become one of them,” he said, “Whichever voice in my head is the loudest, will become me. I guess I can only hope I’ll be caught quickly once that happens. I think I’ll want to be shot on sight, rather than brought in.”

The confession surprised Will, but he just shut his mouth and swallowed, waiting to see what his ghost would think about it.

_ You fear mental institutionalization.  _

_ You would prefer to die than to be declared insane and tested, studied, and treated as such.  _

_ There are a few who would call you selfish for thinking so, but I am inclined to disagree with that. You are noble to have more fear for what you know than what you do not. Most humans fear not knowing what to expect. You know exactly what to expect from mental institutionalization, and are justified in your fear for it. You do not know what to expect from death, but you would prefer to be educated in that area than to experience what you know. _

_ Do you wonder about what might happen if you were to exceed the deeds of the killers in your head? If you were to lose yourself to the voices, and then excel at what they were all arrested for. Do you fear that outcome, or do you not allow yourself to consider it? _

Will felt like he was being cut to the bone by a piece of paper. 

He had talked to psychiatrists before, which is why he now knew he didn’t like them. They had all been clumsy when they tried to pry open his skull to peer inside, and had been blind to what they saw through the jagged opening.

This ghost was doing a better job at understanding Will than anyone, and it was terrifying.

“I don’t like to think about it,” Will confessed, “but of course I do. I worry that I will end up being better than any of them at it. I worry that I won’t be caught.”

_ Do you worry that you will enjoy it? _

Will decided not to answer that one right away.

“Why are you so curious about me?” he asked instead.

There was a pause, like the ghost hadn’t expected that, or didn’t quite know what to say.

_ Everyone craves understanding. Eldon Stammets sought you out because he believed you were the same as he. He was mistaken, but he wanted to find you in order to be understood.  _

_ There is a loneliness that resonates from not being understood by any. I had prepared to never find that for myself, until I stumbled across you. _

_ You are able to understand me. _

Will scoffed.

“You’re a ghost. How am I supposed to understand you? I’m not dead, and I can’t possibly understand what that is like. Not to mention, I only care about understanding people that I either have to catch, or find interesting. I basically already caught you, in a way, and I don’t find you that interesting.”

There was a pause, but this one felt more irked than anything. Maybe he had made the ghost angry again. Maybe Hannibal was narcissistic enough to find the idea that he was not interesting as a serious insult.

Will almost felt bad for saying it, though he hadn’t actually said that he couldn’t understand Hannibal. He had implied that he hadn’t tried, which was true. He hadn’t meant to understand him, but he had done it reflexively.

Eventually, there was a scratch as a response came, and it came with such finality that Will didn’t bother trying to continue the conversation further.

_ You Will. _


	9. 9

“You have another case you can’t solve without me?” Will asked, organizing the papers on top of his desk.

Jack didn’t seem happy to be met with exasperation, but Will thought he should have expected it. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring Will down like his eyes alone could compel compliance. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jack said, “but we could use your help again.”

Will nodded. One thing Jack would never do is admit that he relied on anyone else. In his own mind, he could solve every case on his own, but he thought it would just take longer. Other people were just shortcuts for him.

“Is this going to be a recurring thing, then? You walking into my classroom and taking me out to crime scenes?”

Jack pressed his lips together, and Will almost smiled. Sometimes it was fun to poke at the sleeping dragon.

“I would like to say no,” Jack said, “but obviously I can’t promise people will stop killing just because it would be convenient.”

Will did smile at that. 

“Alright, Jack. I’m on board. Lead the way.”

\---

“The table is set. I am the guest of honor, and the overseer of this dinner. I was not expected, but I am more than welcome. This family is glad to have me here. 

They are not  _ my _ family, though. I did not come here to reunite with my family. I came here to put an end to a life I once had, so I can begin anew. I came to say goodbye.

I have a new home. I have a new family. I choose them over this, and now everyone will know what I am choosing. I cannot feel regret, or worry about these people. They are not mine. I did not choose them, and now my ties will be severed.

Each death comes instantaneously, no suffering or agony. The mother is mine to kill. I know it has to be me. I have to choose, and I have to end it. She forgives me. I am not hers anymore.”

The bodies each lay, their heads bleeding onto their dinner plates. Silence ensued, and Will sat, watching the table before him with grim satisfaction. It was over.

“This is my design.”

Will opened his eyes in reality and looked over the now rotten food, and slowly decaying bodies. He stared at the mother, seeing the forgiveness in her eyes, even in death. 

“What do you see?” Jack asked.

Will took a breath, organizing his thoughts.

“It’s about family, as a unit,” he explained, “I think this has to do with the missing kid. He was either here, or this was done by someone who thinks they were doing it for him. It was to show them that he was not choosing them as his family. He isn’t here with them, because he isn’t theirs. There’s something significant about the mother. If I’m right, she was killed by her own son.”

Will hated the taste of the words, even as they flowed from his lips like burnt caramel. Some things were not meant to be destroyed. Not like this. Family was not something so easily created, and it should not be discarded so flippantly.

Jack was almost as unhappy at the thought as Will felt. Even the others, as they moved about taking pictures and marking evidence, seemed disturbed by the idea. Zeller grimaced, and Price gave Will an almost heartbroken look.

Beverly, ever cool headed, only frowned and shook her head as she worked. 

Will looked over the shelves of pictures as the others worked and talked. He absorbed the information they offered, but he was focused on something else.

By all means, this family should have been happy. The kids should have felt loved, and had plenty. They lived like they had money, and they hadn’t ever had to move away from where their friends lived. They had each other, when friends were not there for them. They had a nice life. 

Why Jesse Turner would leave, and come back to kill his family, was still a bit beyond Will. 

He would not have done it all on his own volition. There had to be a driving force, compelling him to act. 

Hopefully, whatever it was would be less likely to follow Will home than the last one. He had exactly one too many ghosts in his house.

“The killer went low to high, probably crouching,” Zeller said.

“Actually,” Will said, not really thinking before he spoke, “no. They were just short. They were probably all children.”

There was a stunning silence, and Will came to his senses with a snap. He turned to look around at the others, and they were staring at him in shock.

“What?” Price asked.

Will swallowed. He hadn’t meant to say that. He had wanted to get more information before he voiced that particular hunch. He had been too distracted to stop himself from correcting Zeller.

“Uh. The killers. Jesse wasn’t here alone. He had people with him. Who is a kid going to feel the most comfortable around? Other kids, and parental figures. They probably had an adult with them, but there was more than one kid here. That’s why the trajectory is like that.”

Will could tell Zeller was less than happy he was making a habit of correcting him. He definitely wasn’t going to invite Will out for drinks or anything. Not that Will could make himself care very much.

“God,” Price muttered, staring at the bodies as if they might make him forget what he had just heard.

“Alright. I need you to come back to the labs while these guys finish up,” Jack declared, “and you can look for who might be with him. I want to track them down before anything like this happens again.”

If Will was right, this would definitely happen again. There might already be another one that they weren’t aware of yet. All the kids would be cutting ties, not just Jesse. 

Will hoped he was wrong.

Alana was called in to help him try to find more missing kids that would be with Jesse. Will looked through files of missing kids, filling his head with all the information there. 

They only knew of one. That wasn’t a pattern. They needed more to go off. 

Even Alana frowned at the table covered in files, and Will knew she was thinking the same thing. She pulled her hair over one shoulder and shifted her weight. Will glanced up at her dress, which was a bright blue with a pattern of different colored circles. It reminded Will of the spots of light that would remain in someone’s vision after they look directly at the sun, and then just at the sky away from it. She managed to make it look soothing and elegant more than blindingly gaudy. 

“This is a waste of time until we know more,” Alana said, voicing what they had both been thinking.

Will nodded, dropping the file he had been holding onto the table.

“Jack thinks I’ll be able to pick out the magic numbers from this pile,” he said, waving over the files.

Alana raised her eyebrows at him.

“That’s not how you work.”

Will laughed.

“He doesn’t know that. What do you think I should be doing instead?”

Alana tipped her head at him, seeming amused, but curiously concerned as always.

“I think you should be working on your lesson plan,” she said, “I don’t think this kind of work can possibly be good for you.”

Will wanted to roll his eyes, but he settled for a tired sigh.

“It’s too late for that. I’m in now, so I’m staying. I’m going to ask Jack to not interfere with my teaching, but you know how well I can expect that to go.”

Alana nodded. She knew. Jack would do his best, but there would be times he would still storm into the lecture hall during class to drag Will to a crime scene. He wanted Will to see them fresh, and he would eventually have to break any agreement they made about timing. 

“So, you’re just going to do whatever he says, because you know he’s going to say it regardless?” Alana asked.

Will knew she pitied him, and wanted to protect him. It was hard to be around people when they all either wanted something from him, or saw him as broken. At least having Alana see him as broken meant she would be on his side if he ever needed an out.

Will shrugged in response, shifting some of the files around. He wanted to organize them into a spectrum, but the defining factor of the scale hadn’t been determined yet. If he tried now, Alana would consider him unwell.

“You can’t negotiate with a force of nature, Alana,” he said, knowing his humor fell short of light, and sounded dry.

“Then, are you making sure your foundations can hold up to the storm?” she shot back, clearly worried, “do you have a plan for when things escalate to the point you can’t handle them?”

Will tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the look Alana gave him let him know it was far from convincing. 

“Are you worried for me as a friend, or as a psychiatrist?” he asked.

It wasn’t fair of him to say it. He knew she wanted him to see her as a friend. She knew he didn’t want a psychiatrist, so she tried to make him comfortable with her in any other way she could. It was a nice thought, but her professional interest in him loomed over the attempt like a shadow, keeping him from ever really thinking of her as more than one of his nicer acquaintances. It didn’t help his frustration that from the moment he had met her, he had wondered how it would be to kiss her pretty lips. She made it seem very welcoming, but he just wasn’t the type of person to ever do it.

“Will,” she said sadly, “I just want to know that you are going to be alright. You would tell me if something was wrong, right?”

Will huffed softly, tired of the conversation, but feeling like he owed her more.

“I think my mind has figured out a way to deal with it all,” he told her, “I dream more now than I used to.”

Alana tipped her head, surprised that he had been so open with her. He had never told her about the fact he didn’t dream. Now that he had been dreaming so frequently, he figured it should be a sign that he was closer to normal.

“A few of them have been nightmares,” he continued, hoping she would be glad he was talking to her, “but they are better than anything pointing toward mental illness. Dreams are perfectly normal, and nightmares are normal for people who work with death like this.”

Alana pressed her lips into a line, and Will wondered what she was thinking. He hadn’t admitted how he was waking up almost every night, soaked to the bone in sweat, panting like he had just run a marathon. He didn’t want to tell her about how he was almost afraid to sleep now, worried he would see the creature again, and it would find its way to his waking hours.

“Thank you for telling me,” Alana said softly, “I think your dreams are the best way your mind has of dealing with all of this right now, but they could be a warning that you are causing yourself too much stress. You should consider talking to someone.”

Will laughed bitterly.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” he asked.

Alana was surprised at how abrasive he was being, and he really did feel sorry for it. He would have to apologize the next time he saw her. Hopefully, after this case.


	10. 10

Will chuffed against the strong smell of death and decay, walking toward the source. The scene was different from the other, but it was similar enough for Will. 

The bodies lay sprawled around their gifts and decorations. The decorations on the tree glittered like fools gold in a creek bed. The family wore festive pajamas, and were positioned as if they were about to open their presents. With a quick glance, Will didn’t see any that were labelled for the mother, and she was positioned in a way that seemed she had been the most aware of their situation.

“Is it the same killer?” Jack demanded.

Will looked around the room, not bothering to answer the question just yet. It was more than one killer, just like the last scene, so the question wasn’t quite the one Jack should have been asking anyway. 

Will closed his eyes.

“The family has gathered for Christmas. I always liked this holiday because we tried to be nice to each other even when we were angry. 

But  _ my _ family makes this one stand in fear as we gather with them. This is a different kind of festivity than they are used to. After I have fully cut ties with this chapter of my life, there will be a celebration, but they will not be there to share in the joy. I don’t need them anymore. They are not my family. 

I shake with fear, worry, anticipation, and power. I have never had this much control, and yet I am still just a puppet. The gun is shaking in my hand as it comes time for me to cut the last tie, the tie with the woman who used to be my mother.”

“This is my design.”

Jack was still covering his nose against the smell when Will opened his eyes. He stared at the small body in the fireplace, feeling his heart sink. Something had gone very wrong. This was not part of the design.

“Jack. I need to look at those files of missing kids again. I have more to work with now,” Will said, then pointed to the charred body, “That one is Connor. Something happened, and this was his family. It was his fault.”

Jack grimaced, likely seeing that as almost as terrible as Will did.

“Alright. Head right back and get to work. We want to stop this before it happens again. Anything you can do will help.”

Will nodded, heading out. He slid into his car and took a deep breath of the clean air. The scent clung to his senses, and he chuffed against it again. He wished he could scrub all images and sensations of that place from his being. 

Will rested his forehead against the steering wheel, trying to slow down his pounding heart. Tears stung his eyes, and he had to bite back a sob.

Why would anyone throw away this kind of life? They were loved, they were not alone. They had people to come home to, who would listen when they talked. They had a house that didn’t leak or groan, or let the wind cut through the walls. They had food, and family. They had family. 

Who would throw family away?

Will took a deep breath and steeled himself for the drive back to Quantico. He had to focus. He had to save the rest.

\---

Will had the files set out on the table. The bright lights of the lab reflected off the pictures and pages of information. It was like lens flare through his pupils.

He had narrowed them down so there were only six still possible. He had a map hung up that traced a route of travel. Jack had given him some more information to work with even after they had returned. 

CJ Lincoln. The oldest. He would have to be the oldest. 

They all fell into a fairly broad set of traits, but it was enough for Will. 

They had all felt like they didn’t belong in the life they had. Despite everything they had in their life, they felt like an outsider. They felt different. An outlier in what should have been a perfect family.

As Will plotted out the trail they were leaving, he was able to discard the files of children that didn’t fall in line. 

A flutter from the corner of Will’s vision drew his attention.

A note. 

Of course. Why the hell not? 

_ Will, _

_ Why does this case distress you so? You do not always allow yourself to become so immersed in the pursuit of the killer. What is it about this case that has you losing sleep? Staying here far longer than you need to. Why do you not leave the work to those who should be doing it, who do not have an obligation to teach? _

Will groaned, leaning against the table and running a hand over his face. He let his fingers press on his eyes until lights danced in his vision.

“Hannibal. You can’t just do this. I can’t let people see me as crazy, and having notes show up like this is going to make me actually lose my mind.”

Will tipped his head back and sighed, looking up at the ceiling of the lab as he heard a pen make another few scratches against a paper.

_ You didn’t answer the question. I just want to understand. You have not been home long enough for me to ask.  _

Will huffed, but nodded. He quickly checked that there was no one around to hear him, but he had already known he was as alone as he was going to get. It was just him, Hannibal, and the hum of the electric lights overhead.

“The reason I want to find these kids so badly is because I want to save them. If I’m too late, then they are giving away something I can’t give back to them. I’ve already lost my chance with the first three. Maybe I can save the next one.”

There was a pause, and Will thought maybe Hannibal would be satisfied with that, and wait for him to actually be at home again before asking anything else.

That idea fell apart when he heard the next scratch and watched the pen scrawl out the next words.

_ Their families. _

Will swallowed and closed his eyes. He nodded sharply. 

Why did it feel like such a confession when he was probably just talking to a figment of his imagination? It should have been as easy as admitting it to himself. 

Will kept his eyes closed, suddenly feeling the true extent of his exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in almost an entire twenty four hours, and the sleep he had gotten before then was only subpar and low quality. He would need some more coffee soon if he was going to keep going like this.

There was another movement, but it wasn’t the pen against paper. When Will managed to pry his eyes back open, there was a tack stuck into his map. It was along the route he expected the lost boys to take, and it was very near a place he had seen in one of the files.

Will flipped the file open again and read the address. He picked up his phone and texted Jack. This was going to be the next hit. It might not be too late. They might be able to stop them. 

He might be able to save them.

Jack replied quickly, and Will gathered his things. He cast one last look into the room before leaving, looking at the paper again.

“Thank you,” he said quickly before heading out to do his best to save the lost boys.


	11. 11

Will sat in the car, shaking. 

It was alright. He had to keep reminding himself that it had gone well.

Aside from the part where he had almost been shot. The part where he had stared into the eyes of Christopher, and had known that he was only one word away from shooting him. 

Everything had gone well. Everything was fine.

Will made his way home, playing the radio and trying to listen to the music. It was one of the ways he tried to keep his mind from wandering to less pleasant things. He couldn’t afford to have a breakdown until he got home.

He trudged through the door and collapsed onto the floor into the dogs that piled around him. They all offered as much comfort as they could give, and Will hugged them all. He sobbed into their fur and shook as he spouted complete gibberish to them. He knew he looked like a mess, but he didn’t have to care, and he didn’t have the energy to. He didn’t even have enough strength left in his limbs to lift himself off the floor. 

Eventually, after maybe only a few minutes or hours on end, Will sank all the way onto his side and felt his eyes close against the world. The dogs were all laying with him, trying to be in as much contact with him as possible as he slipped out of consciousness.

Where he once could have been relieved by the engulfing embrace of the void, Will now knew he would only find further despair.

\---

Will splashed through the shallow creek that ran through the field. His small feet revelled in the coolness of the water as he continued his hurried pace toward a large, dead tree. He scaled it, his wet shoes leaving dark prints on the dry bark as he ascended.

In one of the top branches, Will looked down at the ground beneath him. He smiled. No one had ever been able to follow him this high. Not in the tree. He was safe.

A strong gust of wind blew by, and Will felt the tree sway beneath him. He was not afraid that the strength of the trunk would give out under the gale. He trusted the tree.

The ground peeled away in great swathes, as if the wind had grown fingers that tore and gripped at the flesh of the earth. Will expected the gouges to bleed something, seeing how violently they were made. Nothing poured out, though, and it simply continued until there was an entirely new scene set before and around him.

A family gathered around the small basket. There were two young boys and a young girl. They were being watched by their parents. The father had dark hair to match the kids, and the mother had long, blonde hair. They looked at the basket with wide smiles, each happy to be there, and excited. They were happy.

The younger boy lurched forward, excitement making his movements sharp. He lifted the lid of the basket and laughed at the contents. He reached in, past the snakes that slithered out around the edges. He either didn’t notice them, or didn’t care that they were so close. Will could recognize the venomous species that soon almost carpeted the ground around the family. The colors writhed and shifted in a mass of peril.

The boy pulled out black snakes, one at a time, and handed them to his family members. Each of them took it with a blank expression, seemingly unaware of the danger. The boy continued grinning as he relinquished his grasp on the serpents, all but for the one he offered to his mother. He held it by the end of the tail, his fingers only curled gently around the writhing form.

The mother looked at him, and she began to cry silent tears. They spilled down her cheeks and splashed onto the snakes by her feet. As each tear fell, the snakes held by the others each struck. One at a time, the others fell, crying out in agony as the venom coursed through their veins, turning their skin ashen and black. 

The boy laughed, not mocking or cruel. He was happy. His mother sobbed in silence, but she smiled at him. Her eyes were full of love, and Will could see that she forgave the boy, even as he held the source of her imminent death.

Will wanted to scream from his perch in the tree. To warn her. To make her turn and run. He wished he could have warned all of them. He wished he was down there with them. To protect them. To save them.

The final snake struck, and the mother fell to the ground. Her tears turned black, and they set fire to the earth around her.

The fire spread, and eventually caught the tree Will was sitting in. He stared, in horror, as the boy turned to look at him. 

The boy was no longer smiling. He had a look of absolute heartbreak as he set his eyes on will from within the inferno. He wasn’t burning, but he was dying. His eyes turned black and his skin started rotting. 

The fire climbed up the tree, seeming to follow the path Will had left with his wet shoes. The prints now turning red and dark like blood as they were consumed by the tongues of flame. It leapt up and licked at him, making him yelp in fear.

“Why?” Will screamed at the boy, even as his flesh began to fall from the bones, “You had everything.”

The boy let out a strangled sob in reply before his entire body collapsed and disappeared into the flames.

Will felt his breath being stolen from his lungs, dragged from him like tendrils of smoke. The fire surrounded him and encroached on his body, searing his skin and making it peel away in burning swatches. 

\---

Will woke, as he had grown used to over the past few months, having sweated through his clothes and with a pounding heart.

The dogs stirred around him and pressed to him, trying to comfort him through cuddle power alone. He smiled and thanked them each quietly before he heaved himself up off the floor. 

He opened the door to let them out and managed to stumble to the bathroom to shower. He was covered in sweat, and all the dirt from the day before. He had at one point hated the feeling of showering after sleeping. His skin felt still not fully aware, and the sensation of the water beating on it was off putting. His fingers almost felt numb against the warmth of the water and he found them more clumsy than normal. Having found himself far too prone to needing a shower in the morning, he had resigned to his fate of experiencing the feelings.

Will walked to the back door and propped it open for the dogs as he made himself some coffee. 

He rubbed absently at his hair with a towel as he drank, his mind not yet landing on any train of thought to begin the day. He was content to let it wander for a bit before he forced it back to reality.

But the pen lifted and scratched out a note, making him come back to himself with a start.

_ Something about this case is far more disturbing to you than any others. You have expressed the regret that the boys gave away their families, and you could not repair that for them.  _

_ Does this bother you so much because you recognize it is not something every child is provided? There are children who were not born into a loving family, and who will never know what it is these boys have chosen to leave behind. _

_ Were you one of those boys, Will?  _

Will pressed his eyes closed, trying not to recall the images of his dream. There was a reason Will didn’t talk to psychiatrists. They always wanted to know about his childhood, and his relationship with his parents. Those were old wounds he had let scar enough he didn’t want to reopen them, even if it would prove better in the long run.

“Low hanging fruit?” he scoffed into the room, “asking about my family life. That’s basically psychiatry 101. I didn’t think you would stoop so low.”

He was far too familiar with the sound of the pen drifting across paper in the elegant way of his house guest, and he opened his eyes again when it was finished.

_ You do not divulge the information freely, so it is rather hard to reach, I see. You would likely find it rude if I began to openly speculate about what that might imply, so it would be rather better for both of us if you spoke for yourself. _

Will laughed, taking a large gulp of his coffee. These days, he knew he rarely took the time to taste anything. Anything he ate was just fuel, and anything he drank was either a source of awareness, or the lack of it.

“How about this,” Will offered, not feeling particularly charitable that morning, “any question I answer, you have to answer as well. You tell me about your family.”

The pen froze in midair, as if the holder was surprised by that, or they feared the outcome. Then, just as always, it returned to the smooth writing Will was now far too accustomed to.

_ Very well. _

Will sighed.

“Fine. I never knew my mother. I was an only child, and my dad and I moved around a lot.”

He tried not to sound too bitter about it all. His dad had done his best, and he didn’t know what had happened to his mom. He just had bad luck in that way.

_ Both my parents died when I was very young. I had no one but my sister, whom I took care of. She is dead now as well. I was taken in by my uncle years after. _

Will felt a pang of sympathy, which he felt was ridiculous. The ghost was probably lying. Since when did ghosts have families? Weren’t poltergeists supposed to be something like demons? 

Will really should have done some more research into his own situation.

Will remembered the second nightmare he had had. The stag, or creature, had said they had been forced to eat their sister. He had felt that the creature loved the girl, just as he now felt that Hannibal was telling the truth. He could feel the detached sorrow in the words Hannibal had written. Things that had happened so long ago he had managed to let them scar over, but still hurt.

“We have more in common than I thought,” Will mumbled, more to himself than anyone else present.


	12. 12

_ Do you ever feel abandoned, Will? _

Will scoffed at the paper and continued making his coffee. He left it dark and bitter to make it force him to stay awake despite his exhaustion from poor sleep. 

“Abandonment requires expectation,” he answered.

Hannibal was taking full advantage of Will’s willingness to answer his questions. There was hardly a moment he wasn’t pestering Will about his thoughts or his past. Will was even starting to see things, and it was making him concerned about his actual mental health. He had come to terms with the fact that he was dealing with an actual ghost, and not just a hallucination, but this was something new. 

Every now and then, he would see a man standing over the paper, holding the pen. The man had sandy hair and deep set eyes. He would always be wearing a suit, or at least a blazer. Will had no idea where he would have seen anyone like that for his mind to pull up now. It was really a cause for concern. 

But he wasn’t going to tell Hannibal that.

_ Did you have no expectations for Jack and the FBI? Surely you had some idea of how they would treat you. _

Will shrugged.

“I knew how Jack was going to treat me, and he has fully lived up to that so far. I didn’t expect him to be nicer, or to be less demanding. I didn’t expect him to be my friend, or a kind of protector. He can’t abandon me.”

It was mostly true. He was a bit upset that Jack wasn’t more sensitive to Will’s state of mind, but he was never sure what other people were able to pick up on from him. He forgave people far too much sometimes because he knew he was an odd case.

_ You keep the bar low, so you are never disappointed. Does that not wear on you mentally? _

Will had to blink away the image of the man standing over the paper. He had turned to look at Will when the words were finished, as if to see how he would react. His eyes were maroon, like dark red wine, or blood at sunset. Will had to be making him up somehow.

“If it does, how would I know?” Will joked bitterly, reflecting the taste of the coffee he frowned down at, “Everything wears on me mentally.”

Will took a long drink of the coffee, not wanting to dwell too much on the truth of that statement. He didn’t like to dwell on much, but Hannibal really liked to bring things back to the surface. If anything was currently wearing on Will, it was trying to keep Hannibal at arm’s length. It was tempting to just tell Hannibal everything he wanted to know. Will sometimes wanted to just relate his full life’s story and see if Hannibal lost interest. See if he got bored of Will.

_ Perhaps.  _

_ There are some things that do not wear on you so terribly as others. Do you find it is easier to allow those around you to live within so low of standards than it is to insist they treat you with more respect? _

Will sighed.

“Wow. You’re really out to attack me this morning, aren’t you?” he said sarcastically, “Are you trying to get to a deeper issue, or just point out all the things I’m doing wrong?”

Will knew he was being deflective, and he knew Hannibal knew it too. He couldn’t help the defense mechanism when Hannibal got too personal. The biggest problem with it was that it showed Hannibal he was getting close to something. It made him just more determined in his pursuit.

_ On the contrary, I am not attempting to attack you, or make you upset. I am merely curious. Right and wrong are subjective, so I would never presume to tell you which your actions are.  _

Will shrugged, but considered the words. Hannibal was nothing if not painfully polite. Even when he was being terrible, he somehow managed to make it sound like he was completely in the right, at least according to social standards. 

“Well, I guess you are just going to have to stay curious,” Will said, pointedly looking at his watch, “I have to get going. Remember, no shenanigans in the classroom. I don’t want to get a reputation for being cursed.”

The pen set down on the paper, and Will knew that was as much of an agreement as he was going to get. Hannibal was cryptic that way, and he was just having to get used to it. 

The drive to work was mostly uneventful, if Will ignored the radio switching stations several times and finally landing on classical and opera music. He raised an eyebrow at the dials, but only sighed and continued driving. 

Having a ghost was sometimes like having a roommate, or maybe even a spouse. Will had never been married, but he imagined this small sort of thing would be common for those pairs who lived together as such. 

Largely, he didn’t mind the little things Hannibal did, rearranging the books on the shelves and making sure the knives were sharp at all times. Even the classical music was alright, as it didn’t have any distracting words that could pull Will from his thoughts. He could listen if he needed, but he could also lose himself to his mind if he wanted.

No, it was the incessant questioning and critiquing that irked Will at times. He would find his clothes in the oddest of places, because Hannibal wanted to encourage him to wear something nicer than his flannels. He would scold the poltergeist, only to have his motives analyzed through paper later in the day. It was somewhat exhausting, though Will had to admit it actually did feel good to talk so freely to someone.

Alana was standing outside his lecture hall when Will walked up. He raised an eyebrow at her as he unlocked the door and let them both in.

“Did Jack send you?” he asked, feeling awkward.

Alana tipped her head, and Will knew Jack had said something to her. The real reason she was there was because she was curious, though.

“I sent me,” she answered, “I was worried about you. Jack said you were really affected by the lost boys case. I happen to agree with that assessment. I want to make sure you are okay.”

Will smiled to her, trying to reassure her as he set his stuff on the desk.

“Sorry I was so gruff when we were working together,” he offered, remembering his resolution to apologize, “I hadn’t been sleeping well.”

Alana folded her arms stubbornly. She could see through his words better than most people. Not as well as Hannibal, thought.

“You said you were having nightmares,” she said, “but you didn’t say you were having trouble sleeping.”

Will shrugged.

“I don’t have trouble sleeping,” he shot back, “I just don’t sleep well. The difference is choice. I make choices that make my sleep lower quality.”

Alana was predictably unhappy with Will for the words. Will wondered idly if he was capable of making anyone happy with him, or if he was just cursed to be prickly.

“Will-”

“You’re here about the case, though,” Will interrupted her, “not about my sleeping schedule.”

Alana sighed.

“I just wanted to make sure you are okay after everything that happened. You were already obsessing over the case, and then you had that altercation with one of the boys. You can’t tell me it didn’t upset you at all.”

Will was caught. He knew he couldn’t deny that he had been upset by the entire thing. He had been too obvious about all of it.

“Alright. I have a soft spot for kids,” he confessed, unable to meet her eyes, “and I hated seeing them being manipulated like that. I hated seeing them lose their families.”

It was half truth, he knew. He had been angry, and distraught. They had given their families away. 

Alana softened immediately, and looked like she might try to give Will a hug. He didn’t like hugs, so he shifted away slightly without really meaning to. Alana seemed to take the hint, though, and didn’t try to touch him.

“I’m sorry, Will,” she said, “I should have realized. Are you alright? Do you need anything? Do you want to talk about it?”

Will smiled gratefully to her, trying to let her know he was fine, and didn’t want any help. All the different kinds of smiles were hard to work out. He hoped he did it well enough to convince her. 

“I’m really fine, Alana,” he said, “we caught them. We found them. We saved them. It’s over.”

Alana nodded, wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes and she smiled.

“Thank you for telling me, Will. I really needed to know you are alright. Please let me know if anything else bothers you.”

Will nodded, still staring at the floor. He just couldn’t make himself look at her while she was upset. 

Alana left him alone in his lecture hall, and Will could finally breathe. He got to work preparing the lesson, and the little flutters of papers as they were straightened by invisible hands reminded him that he was never alone. 

Somehow, Will found comfort in that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. Writers block, paired with the days finally starting to blur together because of quarantine means I end up short on some projects. I'll try to do better.


	13. 13

A totem pole. Why not? 

Will ran a hand over his face, feeling more tired every minute.

Why the hell not?

Will watched as the terrible structure was disassembled and cataloged. Jack showed him the fresh body that had been on top, and the order in which they had been removed. 

Will didn’t really like seeing this. Normally, the murders didn’t bother him much. This was just so much to see. So much to think about. So many lives had been ended, by one soul. It was crushing. 

Will told Jack everything he could. The killer had murdered all of these people. He had never been caught. He was disappointed that he wasn’t being recognized. This was a monument to his work. The identity of the final victim would lead them to the killer. He wanted to be found. 

Will wouldn’t even need to help them with it.

Will was released when Jack was satisfied, and he drove home in silence. Neither he nor Hannibal bothered switching on the radio. Maybe Hannibal knew Will was feeling crushed under the weight of what he had seen. Maybe he knew Will would have snapped at him if he did anything. Either way, they were in silent agreement to take the drive in the quiet.

Will got home from the crime scene and dropped onto his couch. He did not want to keep doing this, but he knew he needed to. He was saving lives, and it was what he was good at.

Will let his head drop back in exhaustion. 

He just wanted a break. 

He just wanted to relax.

He wanted someone else to be in control for a bit.

\---

Will woke up in a panic. He didn’t remember going to sleep, or changing his clothes into the jeans and flannel he was wearing now. He didn’t remember driving anywhere.

He sat in his car, racking his brain for information and staring out around him to figure out if he could tell where he was.

He was parked on the side of a back road on the edge of a forested area. He didn’t recognize the road, but the way the air moved around him and the line of the horizon down the road felt familiar, like he wasn’t too far from home.

Stepping out of the car, Will noticed a strange wetness in his shoes and he looked down. 

His shoes were soaked, and the footprints they left were tinged slightly pink. 

Something had gone wrong, but he had no idea what it was.

Will looked at the ground along the treeline and spotted a few of his own wet footprints. Deciding to follow them, he started off into the woods. The spaces between each print were consistent and equal to his current stride, meaning he didn’t seem to have been in any hurry. They were wet, and still oddly pink.

When he reached a small stream, Will realized why his shoes must have been wet. He had walked through it at some point.

On the other side, Will could see the edge of a clearing through the trees, so he headed for it with no other clues or directions.

Will almost collapsed when he saw what the clearing held. 

There was a body suspended from two low hanging branches of a tree. The tree was the only one actually in the clearing, but still near the edge. The body of the man hung by his clearly broken arms, stretched to each side and lashed to the branches. His entrails were spilled beneath him, but everything seemed purposeful and precise.

Will fell back a few steps into the trees, away from the clearing. He felt himself go into shock and swallowed the feeling for the moment.

Will walked back through the stream, hoping to God that the pink tint to the water coming from his shoes was not blood. He let the water splash around his ankles a bit more than was necessary, just in case.

He didn’t know what to do. 

If he called the police, he would not only look guilty, but he actually might be. He could tip them anonymously, but he didn’t know what kind of evidence he might have left behind if he really did kill that man. He would feel guilty if he did nothing, though.

He knew who he needed to talk to, and he gritted his teeth in anger as he sped toward his house.

Once the paper and pen were set out like he liked them, Will decided to get Hannibal’s attention.

“Alright, Hannibal. I need to talk to you, and if you don’t answer me I will call an exorcist and have you booted from the house. Do you understand?”

The pen lifted and scrawled in the usual ornate cursive.

_ There is no need to be rude, Will. _

Will barked a sharp laugh into the room.

“No need to be rude? I can’t believe you would accuse _me_ of being rude, when you just went and possessed me.”

The pen hovered over the paper, as if in thought before responding.

_ You wished for it. You very expressly wanted someone other than yourself to take control for a time. You are lucky it was I, and not another, more destructive consciousness that took you up on the opportunity. You may be dead. _

“Or someone else might still be alive,” Will almost shouted. 

The pen stilled, and Will had to calm himself down. He took a few deep breaths and pressed his hands together.

“Alright. I want an explanation, and it had better be good. I need to know what happened, and why the _hell_ you decided that was what you should do with my body.”

The pen tapped on the table, as if amused at the wording of the question.

_ His name was Allen Geller. You may not remember him, but he was expressly discourteous to you nearly a month ago. He was a waste of a man, truly with no reason to continue existing. I promise you there will be no viable evidence found by the time the body is discovered. Unless, of course, you have decided to tell the police of the killing. I can make no guarantees if that is your plan.  _

_ My reasons for doing so are simple. Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me, and I find it beyond myself to forgive those who have no business acting in such a way. There are many choices one can make regarding their behavior, and choosing to be rude is simply a waste of autonomy. _

Will stared at the words as the paper was slid to him, partly as an offering, and partly to uncover the next page so the author could continue when the next questions were posed. He rubbed his hands over his face and cursed under his breath.

Of all the people to be haunted, it had to be him. There were plenty of other people that would be much more entertaining to bother, but this poltergeist had decided he was the one.

“So, you are trying to make it so I have no choice,” Will said, almost dropping himself into a chair at the table near the papers, “I have to just accept that I killed a man, and let you get away with it so I don’t go to jail.”

The pen moved above the paper for a moment, as if practicing the feel of a word before writing it.

_ How are you feeling, Will? _

Will gaped.

“What?”

The pen did nothing, seemingly allowing Will time to process the words rather than repeating them.

“Why the Hell are you asking me how I feel? I just got possessed, killed a guy, and now I am trying to get answers out of the ghost who possessed me. How do you think I’m feeling?”

The pen tapped hard on the table, as if reprimanding Will for raising his voice again.

_ I did not only kill a man when I had the use of your body, Will. I fixed a proper meal, which you have not had in far too long, and ate it. You should feel much better now that you have some quality nutrients in you. You also regularly neglect to keep yourself properly hydrated, which I did my utmost to remedy as well, though both issues will be easily undone if you do not put in the effort to maintain the improvements to your health. _

Will hated to admit it, but he did feel better. He could feel the satisfied weight in his stomach telling him that he really _had_ eaten well recently, and his brain didn’t slosh and bump around in his skull as much as it normally did.

Will shook his head before he propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.

“I don’t understand why you do anything,” he said through his fingers.

He sat in silence for a few minutes before he heard the pen gently scratching over paper once more. He listened as it tapped and slid, even _sounding_ like it was being used with the absurd grace he knew it was.

Once the sounds stopped, Will lowered his hands and allowed himself to look.

There was a fresh paper on top of the stack, and it had been placed slightly crooked on top of the other papers that lay neatly beneath it. 

_ Will. I entertain many trains of motivation at any given time, I admit. This may make it so my motives are difficult to see. One of these is always my own amusement. When I first fell into your life, and you into mine, this was the motive that drove many of my actions. _

_ I admit I acted foolishly during that time, but other reasons for my actions have come into play since then.  _

_ Perhaps you can consider it my own form of justice by fire. I have strict tastes when it comes to those that I allow in my company, and slightly looser requirements for those that deserve life. Rudeness is a line that I have drawn for most, so it is another of my motivating factors for my actions.  _

“He didn’t deserve to die,” Will argued weakly.

Will would forever remember the response to that. He would never be able to get it out of his head. From the moment he read it to the moment he died, it would linger in the back of his mind.

_ He didn’t deserve to live. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a while. It didn't help that I ran off to the coast for a few days on a whim. I hope you liked it.


	14. 14

Will walked into his lecture hall, feeling sweat gather on the palms of his hands. It was like he could _feel_ Hannibal following him and breathing down his neck. 

His damn poltergeist was curious. Hannibal was curious to see how Will would react to having to teach law enforcement after finding out that he had killed a man. He wanted to see what reaction Will had to the guilt. 

Will steeled himself and counted his breaths as he prepared for today’s lecture. He felt his heart rate lower, and his hands stopped sweating. He turned his thoughts fully to the subject of the lecture at hand. 

Students began filing in, and Will kept his eyes down as usual. He got a few odd glances from the students, but that was to be expected. He had been missing class in order to help Jack quite a bit recently, and it was normal for the students to be curious about why he had been gone. 

Again, he was impressed by the number of students who seemed to notice he was in an odd mood. He thought those that could tell something was off would probably make the best agents later on. He just hoped they stuck with everything and made it that far.

“Even the difference of a few feet can dramatically impact the rate of decomposition, temperature change, and insect activity on a body,” Will was saying when he stopped. 

That same image of a man was there, looking over the shoulder of one of the students. He seemed to be reading the notes they were taking. The man, seeming to sense he was being observed, looked up and met Will’s eyes. He tipped his head curiously and plucked the top page of the boy’s notes off his notebook. The man flickered out of view as the page fluttered to the ground a few levels lower than where the student was sitting. The student yelped and tried to reach out and catch the paper, but it was out of his range and on the floor.

Will wanted to roll his eyes at the antics of his ghost, but he only held out his hand.

“Hand it over,” he said calmly.

The student closest to the paper picked it up off the floor and handed it to Will as the one who had lost it started turning a deep shade of red. He was spluttering about something, but Will didn't pay him any mind as he looked at the paper.

_ The distance between me and professor Graham is dramatically impacting my ability to **think**. God. I wish he'd come over and teach **me** about temperature change. _

Will raised an eyebrow at the boy, who was staring at his notebook with utter despair. Will walked up and stood beside him, placing the paper upside down on top of the notebook it had come from.

“I'm sorry if you have been having a hard time paying attention,” he said flatly, making the boy look up at him with a mixture of horror and hope, “if it continues to be a problem, I would suggest taking the class from someone else. As it is, please take actual notes from now on.”

The boy ducked his head in embarrassment and nodded adamantly. Will walked back down and stood in front of his desk again.

“As I was saying, The location of a body after death can drastically change the signs of decomposition, meaning the longer it is exposed, the harder it is to pinpoint a time or date of death.”

The students all seemed to be paying closer attention after that incident, and the boy in question was writing furiously. If anything good had come from the little slip up, it was the boy taking the class seriously for the first time. 

\---

Will was dreaming again. It had been a while since he had had this kind of dream. Most of his dreams recently had been nightmares, but they had seemed relatively normal. 

He was sitting on the bank of a stream, watching the ripples of water as they flowed over smooth rocks and moss. The stag was sitting next to him, its legs folded under itself as it watched a little grey fish swim against the current.

“So, this going to become a routine for us?” Will asked after a moment of silence, “you showing up in my dreams? It’s been a while. I was starting to think you had left me.”

The stag turned to him and tilted its head.

_ I was never absent. In each of your dreams, I was there. Even in your waking moments, I am still with you. _

Will chuffed.

“Ah. Well, does that mean you are the reason I’ve been having nightmares? I never used to dream before you showed up.”

The stag bowed its head in agreement, though something in its eyes showed regret.

_ It is an unfortunate nature of my state of being. I would not cause nightmares in your head if I had any say in the matter. As it is, I hope you can forgive me for the inconvenience. _

Will shrugged.

“I’ve never slept particularly well,” he admitted, “but I wasn’t pleased to find that now my only escape from my own thoughts had been taken from me. If it’s not your fault, I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to be upset with you.”

The stag chuffed in gratitude.

“So, if you’re with me all the time, are you another kind of ghost that has decided to haunt me, or are you just something in my head that finally came to the surface. I suppose I could have been talking to myself this entire time.”

The stag shook its head as if to dislodge something from its antlers. 

_ I am neither another ghost, nor a figment of your imagination. I have three forms I can take currently, and it has become clear to me that you are familiar with all of them. _

The stag once again morphed into the terrible, wendigo shape it had once before. Its bones cracked and the feathers fell away until its emaciated form stared back to Will. 

_ I most commonly show myself in one of these two forms. The other is what I appeared as before I became this. I told you I have nearly forgotten it. _

Will wasn’t sure where the creature was trying to lead him with the conversation. He just stared on, not daring to move in case it attacked him like it had last time. 

_ If you recall the image of my other form to your mind, I will be able to find it again. You saw my other form, when I was not aware I could be seen. Remember what I look like. _

Will racked his brain for any time he had seen the creature in any other form. He was sure he had only seen it as a stag, and then this, whatever it was. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Will said, “I haven’t seen you except in my dreams, and you are almost always a stag. I don’t understand.”

The creature snarled at him, baring teeth that were blindingly bright in comparison to the tar like skin that parted around them.

_ This was not in your dreams. This was today. In your classroom. I am Hannibal. I have been here all along. How did you think I knew around your mind well enough to control your body when you allowed me access? I am the one and only ghost that has taken interest in you so far. Give me my form back. _

Will’s mind provided the image without his consent, and the figure before him flickered in and out of existence until it finally landed on the appearance of the man Will had been seeing glimpses of for the last while.

The man blinked, smiled, and flexed his fingers. He seemed to be taking a certain pleasure in being able to see himself in this form again. 

“Thank you, Will,” the man said, the same voice as the creature, but this time coming from his lips, “I was very unhappy when I found I no longer recalled this body. I can only wonder how you were able to see it when I could not.”

Will couldn’t do anything but just blink and gape at the man sitting beside him. The man leaned over the stream and admired his own reflection. He ran his fingers through the small fringe of hair that fell over his brow, experimenting with smoothing it back and letting it fall. After a moment, he turned back to Will with a raised eyebrow.

“Well? Do you have an explanation?” he asked.

Will finally found his voice.

“What the hell?”

The man sighed in exasperation.

“I thought I explained myself rather well. No matter. I am Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter. I am pleased to finally have the opportunity to properly introduce myself. The business with the paper is so tedious, don’t you think?”

Hannibal extended a hand, and Will accepted it slowly. He looked over the man, unsure how he was expected to react. 

“I must have finally lost my mind,” Will said numbly.

Hannibal hummed.

“No. I understand how much of a concern that is for you, but I can assure you your mind is entirely where it belongs, and in one piece. I truly had not expected to have this sort of occurrence. There truly must be something remarkable stored in your mind that allows you to be the link between myself and the physical world.”

Will shook his head, trying to clear it. He stared back at the stream, and listened to it trickling by. 

This was all too surreal. None of it made any sense. 

“So, you figured it was the perfect time, right after you used me to kill someone, to reveal that you’ve also been in my dreams?” Will demanded, feeling afraid of the answer.

Hannibal adjusted the tie around his neck, seeming bored with Will’s question.

“Had I been aware you could see me, I may not have taken the liberty of borrowing you until I had my form back. I am still curious why you  _ are _ able to see me.”

Will huffed.

“Hell if I know,” he said, “I don’t know the first thing damn about ghosts. I figured I was imagining it, or you were messing with me." 

Hannibal sighed lightly.

“Will, I have not said anything before, but I am truly bothered by your use of language. I would greatly appreciate it if you could articulate yourself better.”

Will laughed. 

“ _Damn_. That’s a new one. I use too much _damn_ language. Is that what the _hell_ you mean? Oh my _god_. Maybe I should pray for forgiveness. _God_. Not going to happen, freakshow.”

Hannibal’s expression darkened, but he only set his jaw and looked back to the stream.

“I wasn’t aware you would still feel comfortable insulting me in such a way,” Hannibal said, seeming much more upset than Will thought was necessary.

“I wasn’t aware there were rules of courtesy that applied to our situation,” Will shot back, “I haven’t exactly read the handbook on manners when haunted or possessed. I guess I’ll have to look it up when I wake up.”

Hannibal didn’t respond to that. He just stared at the stream as the water slowly turned to blood and suffocated the little fish he had been watching.

“Oh hell. Is this where my dream turns into a nightmare because you can’t help it?” Will asked, rolling his shoulders, and wondering idly if that would actually accomplish anything since it was just a dream.

“Not in the least,” Hannibal answered, standing so he loomed over Will, “I can help _this_ if I chose to.”

Hannibal lunged, shoving Will’s shoulders to the ground so he was straddling Will’s hips. He had a knife in his hand, and Will didn’t know when he had gotten it, but he supposed it was a dream, and anything was technically possible. Hannibal held the knife to Will’s throat, and Will saw genuine, murderous intent in his eyes.

Will woke up in his bed, a knife to his throat, and a figure pinning him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I've been trying for forever to get this part right. I'm still not completely satisfied, but it gets my point across well enough. I hope you all like it.


	15. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably not as exciting as you all were hoping. 
> 
> Sorry.

Hannibal looked terrifying, looming over Will with a knife in his hand. His maroon eyes were almost black in the low light, and the small fringe of hair fell in front of his face making him seem animalistic despite his clothing.

Will swallowed, feeling the blade press into his skin. He stared up at Hannibal, and they were in a stalemate for a moment. The air between them seemed to spark and crack with potential, and Will was afraid of what might happen. The figure above him didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. Will realized Hannibal wouldn’t need to breathe, being dead already. The unnatural stillness was almost more frightening than the blade pressed to his skin.

“Are you going to kill me for swearing at you in my dream?” Will asked, deciding that if he was going to die, he wasn’t going to lose what little dignity he had left.

Hannibal huffed softly, almost curiously.

“You can see me even now,” he mused, “How long have you been able to see me?”

Will wet his lips, nervous despite himself.

“I can’t always see you. I catch glimpses, and see you do little things. The incident in the classroom yesterday was the longest stretch so far.”

Hannibal nodded, not moving the knife away from Will’s throat. Will thought he must still be considering whether or not he was going to kill Will for his rudeness. Will remembered what Hannibal had said about Allen Geller. He had been expressly discourteous. That had been enough to warrant his death. Will had been blatantly insulting. He wondered why he wasn’t dead yet.

“I have never had the pleasure of being seen after I died. I wonder if it has anything to do with your incredible empathy.”

“I’d love to discuss it further,” Will said sarcastically, careful not to move and cut himself, “but maybe not with a knife on my throat, if it’s all the same to you.”

Hannibal pressed his lips together, apparently not pleased with Will’s attitude, but he pulled the knife away. He sat back on his heels and just watched Will. He was still positioned so Will couldn’t sit up fully. Will propped himself up on his elbows, completely aware of the presence holding him down. Hannibal shifted his weight as if to remind him anyway.

“Alright. What do you want?” Will asked, trying to sound gruff and unhappy despite his clear position of disadvantage. He wouldn’t give any ground unless he had no other choice. 

Hannibal tipped his head.

“I want to understand how you are able to see me,” Hannibal said, then he looked down at his own hands as if they shouldn’t be there, “how you were able to see me when I had forgotten myself. What makes you special?”

Will shook his head. Special. That was something people only called him when they didn’t want to sound rude, but didn’t know what to refer to him as. They would say his mind was special, that his work was special, that something about him was special. He had grown to hate being called that.

Somehow, when Hannibal said it, it didn’t resonate the same way. Hannibal hadn’t used the term to rid himself of the responsibility of discovering what he was referring to. He hadn’t meant it as something to alienate Will from others. He had used it because he genuinely lacked the knowledge of what better to say in regards to Will. He just didn’t know what word he was missing.

“I don’t know. No one else has ever seen you before? I know Eldon didn’t. He said he never saw you. But he had the dreams too. Didn’t you try talking to him?”

Hannibal stared at Will like he was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. It was both flattering and unnerving. Hannibal’s form still seemed oddly shadowed, despite the sun starting to light the room from the window behind him. It was as if the light couldn’t register his presence.

“I only caused him nightmares. I was never in his dreams, or if I was, he never became aware of my presence there. I could not talk to him aside from writing. Eldon was nothing like you.”

Will nodded. 

That was true enough. He had known before meeting Eldon that they had opposite problems. Eldon didn’t understand people, and Will understood anyone and everyone. They were completely different.

“So,” Will said, trying to figure out what the best course of action was, “do you have a theory? You are the psychoanalyst out of the two of us.”

Hannibal smiled. It was a little thing, and much more pleasant than the smile Will had seen on his face before. Will would almost say it softened his features, and made his presence less menacing. 

“I would disagree. You have given a fair few lectures on psychoanalysis, and you are in a unique position to know the exact nature of others’ thoughts. Neither of us is more suited than the other to explain our circumstances.”

Will sighed. They were getting nowhere. 

“I need to get ready for work,” Will said after a pause, “So It’d be great if you could get off the bed and let me up. I have lectures to give, and you promised not to interfere with them.”

Will wasn’t sure the reminder was completely necessary, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He didn’t know what Hannibal was planning to do now, but Will understood his nature enough to know he wouldn’t go back on his word like that. It would be considered rude.

Hannibal pressed his lips together, considering, for a moment. Then he moved carefully off the bed and walked into the kitchen.

Will sighed in relief and got up. He showered and dressed, getting ready for the day. When he eventually made his own way to the kitchen, he stopped and blinked in surprise.

There was a pan of eggs on the stove, and a fresh mug of coffee next to it. Hannibal was sitting at the table with a book, reading it as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“What the hell?” Will said. He couldn’t help it. Everything was too weird.

Hannibal looked up at him, his eyes scanning Will’s form as if judging his outfit. Will felt suddenly self aware, and a bit uncomfortable. 

“You never make yourself breakfast, Will,” Hannibal said, waving to the seat across from himself, “and you can’t possibly expect to continue functioning properly without proper nutrition. It wouldn’t benefit me if you died of starvation, surrounded by unprepared food, without having the chance to help me discover what makes you unique.”

Will turned to the cupboard and got a bowl for the eggs. He smiled despite himself, thinking all Hannibal had just said sounded like a fancy excuse for doing someone a favor. He wasn’t going to point that out just yet, though.

When Will sat down at the table, he felt weird seeing someone else there. He had lived alone for so long it was like a stranger had just walked in and decided to join him for breakfast.

In a way, he thought, that was kind of what had happened. 

“So, are you planning to question me over the scrambled eggs, or are you going to let me have at least a moment of peace?” Will asked, taking his first bite.

They were delicious. He actually stopped and stared down at them for a moment.

“What the hell?” He said again.

Hannibal cleared his throat, giving Will a disapproving look for the language he was using. It almost made Will laugh.

“I do not intend to question you at all,” Hannibal said, matter-of-factly, “I expect us to be able to have a perfectly civil conversation, perhaps at another time. Now that we can speak face to face, communication will be much easier. I expect our combined efforts should reveal something to answer our questions.”

Will nodded. That sounded good to him. He didn’t have to worry about it too much, if Hannibal didn’t just expect him to have all the answers. 

“I think we can do that,” he agreed, “as long as you promise not to kill me, or hold a knife to me again. I mean, obviously it wasn’t much more than an inconvenience this time, but really. That’s just not the way to go about things. It’s like you don’t know how to talk to someone.”

It was a little jab, but Will figured he should be allowed it after the morning he had. 

Hannibal frowned down at the book he had on the table. 

“To answer the implied question, yes,” Hannibal said, “I am a bit out of practice. I haven’t spoken to anyone in decades, and the only communications I have had have been written conversations with psychopaths and serial killers. I understand I may be a bit rough around the edges when it comes to what is considered acceptable.”

Will laughed. He actually laughed, and it wasn’t malicious in any way. It was just so ridiculous. It was hilarious to think that the spirit that had been haunting him this entire time was socially out of practice. The ghost that had killed a man for being rude, didn’t know how to properly communicate his own displeasure to someone who wasn’t actually crazy. It was just so absurd.

Hannibal was not as amused as Will, seeming almost hurt by his laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Will lied, calming himself down, “It’s just so funny to think about. I’m not laughing at you. It’s not your fault, technically. It’s just so funny.”

Hannibal pressed his lips together, displeased, but not angry.

“I see,” He said, though Will really didn’t think he did, “I’m glad you find it entertaining.”

Will waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you have to talk to anyone other than me. I’m not exactly a social butterfly, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Hannibal did smile at that, huffing his own quiet laugh.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was almost late this update, due to the sudden death of Charlemagne, my laptop.
> 
> Carmilla, my new laptop, has come to the rescue, and I should be on schedule from here on out. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.


	16. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boundaries are... established? Tested? Pushed? 
> 
> Something like that.

Hannibal slipped into the car alongside Will as he went to leave for work, and he couldn't help but stare for a moment. It was just so weird to actually have a tangible person with him in the car. Hannibal responded by looking right back at him, expression expectant.

“Sorry,” Will said, snapping back to himself and starting the car, “I’m just so unused to seeing you. It’s weird.”

Hannibal nodded. He turned to look out the passenger door window, as if he were completely used to the routine. He probably was. He watched the trees and grass as they passed by, and the silence between them was starting to drive Will crazy by the time they had made it a fourth of the way.

“You usually turn the radio on,” Will said, desperate for something to be said.

Hannibal turned back to him, watching him curiously.

“Do you want the radio on, Will? You are perfectly capable of doing it yourself.”

Will frowned.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, I don’t want it to just be quiet, but I guess I just figured you would keep doing the same stuff. I didn’t realize everything was going to be so different now that I can see you.”

The confession made Will feel a little warm, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like it was anything big. It wasn’t something he should really have been concerned about, but he worried what Hannibal might say in reply.

“If I turned the radio on, now that you can see me, would you not feel the compulsion to stop me? You can track my movements now, and this is your territory. I felt the freedom to do as I wished before, because you didn’t have the power to stop me. It has become evident that you are now more capable of doing so. I had thought to do you a service by not intruding as much now.”

Will hummed. 

It wasn’t exactly like he wanted Hannibal to keep doing annoying things, but he had sort of gotten used to it. It would be even more weird for Hannibal to not do any of those things anymore.

“Well, I guess I should thank you for your consideration, then,” Will said, not really sure what Hannibal was expecting, “I just don’t want you to feel like you are intruding, I guess. You were at the beginning, but now that I’m used to it, and I can see you, I think I’ll be more okay with it when you want to do little stuff like that. I guess we’ll just have to see.”

There was another long moment of silence before Will decided he was going to stop worrying about it. He switched on the radio and flipped it to a regular pop station. He saw Hannibal wince out of the corner of his eye, and smiled to himself. If Hannibal wanted to listen to something else, he would just have to change the station himself.

Will bobbed his head along to a few songs, watching his companion slowly grow more irritated as the drive continued. Hannibal finally reached his limit when Will liked a song enough that he started singing along. 

Hannibal reached forward, but Will caught his hand before he touched the dials. They both froze, unsure what to do next.

Will hadn’t fully realized he could actually touch Hannibal until that moment. Obviously, Hannibal had been able to touch him, and the things around him, but Will hadn’t thought _he_ would be able to initiate contact. 

Hannibal was warm, which surprised Will. He had expected him to be cold, since he was technically dead. 

Will tore his hand away like the contact had burned him, putting it right back onto the wheel and tightening his grip until his knuckles turned white.

“Sorry,” He said instinctively, “reflexes. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Hannibal slowly put his hand back down onto his leg. He looked at Will with something more than curiosity now. Will refused to meet Hannibal’s eyes, and kept his jaw set and his mouth decidedly shut.

They both walked into Quantico, and Will was boggled by the fact that no one batted an eye. He had almost thought now that he could see Hannibal, everyone else would be able to as well. Hannibal just followed Will like a trained dog, all the way into the classroom. 

Will wondered why Hannibal hadn’t disappeared. He had never seen him for very long before. 

Will went through his notes for the lecture, trying not to think about how distracting it would be to have Hannibal wandering around during class. 

“Good morning, Will.”

Will looked up as Alana walked in. She was wearing a red shirt with a black pencil skirt, and her hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves. Will was disappointed she was a psychiatrist, because she was so pretty. It would be so much easier for him to want to kiss her if she didn’t want to dig through his brain.

He glanced around, but he didn’t see Hannibal anywhere. Not that it mattered, he supposed. Alana wouldn’t have been able to see him anyway.

Alana raised an eyebrow. 

“Expecting someone else?” She asked.

Will shook his head.

“No, just wondering if Jack was hiding somewhere to watch my reaction to whatever you have to say." he replied, "What _do_ you have to say?” 

Alana seemed to buy his story, smiling in the way she did when she was concerned, but amused.

“Well, Jack wanted me to make sure everything is alright with you. It seems he knows you aren’t overly fond of psychiatrists,” she said, “that, or he doesn’t know very many psychiatrists, and I just happen to also know you.”

Will nodded, keeping his eyes down on his notes.

“Probably both. Why wouldn’t everything be alright with me? I’ve been doing my job, and I haven’t had any more run ins with the killers,” he answered.

Alana nodded.

“That’s true, but the severity of the crimes hasn’t changed,” she said, “and I know that can be really hard for you.”

Will scoffed.

“It can be really hard for anyone, but I don’t see you going and patting Beverly’s hand, or asking Zeller if he’s having a hard time with everything. You and Jack are just worried that I’ll stop being able to help. Jack is worried I’ll stop being useful, and _you’re_ worried I’ll snap. What do you think will happen if I snap, Doctor Bloom?”

Will hadn’t meant to be that sharp with her, but he was so preoccupied that morning he hadn’t really been able to help it. He saw that she was surprised, but she wasn’t hurt. She was just more concerned.

“You let killers get into your mind, Will,” she said, as if that should explain everything else away, “I don’t know what might happen, but I don’t want you to push yourself too hard. I just don’t want you to need help when you aren’t willing to get it.”

Will nodded, but he didn’t even glance up to her. He knew she wanted him to make eye contact. To show that he _tried_ to be normal. Those were the kinds of things she wanted from him. If he wasn’t trying to be normal, she was worried he was letting himself fall into his own darkness.

It was almost funny to Will that she had phrased it that way. He _let killers into his mind_. He had inadvertently let a killer literally take over his body not too long ago. That killer was always in Will’s head, even in his dreams. It was so much more appropriate to say than Alana even knew. 

“What _might_ happen is anything,” Will said flatly, “but that could be said for anyone. Jack wants to be able to predict me, and you want to understand me. The problem is that I don’t understand myself, and I don’t really want to talk about it. If you are Jack’s best tool for predicting me, he’s not going to walk away from this happy.”

Alana pressed her lips together. She wasn’t happy either. Will knew she wasn’t, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything about it.

“I don’t want to be one of Jack’s tools,” Alana admitted, “but you don’t talk to anyone. You only talk to me sometimes, and I’m worried about you.”

Will did want to make her feel better. He knew she was genuinely concerned, and wanted to help. She was just trying to figure out what she could do, and he was responding like a porcupine that was being threatened.

“I don’t want you to be my psychiatrist,” Will confessed, finally glancing up to Alana’s face for just a moment. He knew what affect his words would have on her. 

Will stood up and walked around his desk. He wanted her to feel like he was being open. He rubbed his face, trying to put his words together properly. His thoughts were a bit fuzzy, and he needed to clear them. He wanted to be understood.

“I don’t want you to just be someone Jack uses in order to get to me.”

Alana tilted her head and stepped up closer to Will.

“What do you want me to be, then?” she asked softly.

Will sighed, pictures flashing through his head of what she could be. They could be friends, or they could even maybe date. She was pretty, smart, incredibly caring, and, if she could just stop overthinking everything, she liked Will enough. It would be nice to get to know her, and not just have to answer her questions about himself. He wanted to see her in a more casual setting. She would look so lovely out in nature, where a breeze might catch her soft hair. Will imagined she would have a beautiful smile when she was genuinely relaxed.

“I just want you to be who you are, and not have you always worried about being someone _for me_ ,” Will finally decided.

It was the best way he could phrase it. He wanted her to be who she was, and not who he needed or wanted her to be. 

Alana smiled, and she actually seemed happy. She didn’t look concerned, or piteous, or afraid. She stepped right up to Will and gave him a quick, chaste kiss. 

“Thank you, Will,” she said.

Alana turned and left the room, leaving Will standing in front of his desk. He was stunned, and speechless. He hadn’t expected her to do that. He was usually able to predict her, but maybe he had just been saying things that he could predict her reaction to. By being perfectly honest, he had allowed her to surprise him.

Will snapped out of his daze when a pile of papers flew off his desk and scattered around the room. His head spun around, looking in vain for Hannibal. For whatever reason, he couldn’t see his ghost anymore. 

Students began filing in as Will picked up the scattered papers, and he continued with the day as if it were any other, aside from occasionally blushing slightly at the memory of what had happened before class.


	17. 17

Will was tired at the end of the day. Jack hadn’t been in to bother him, which had actually made him work more. He had given lectures, answered questions from his students, and graded papers all day. It had been a lot of unenjoyable work, which was more exhausting than work he enjoyed. 

Will checked and double checked that he had all the papers he needed, in his bag, before he started heading out. 

The sun had started setting by the time he finally pulled away from Quantico, and the clouds were tinted a rosy orange color on the horizon. Will rolled down the windows in the car as he drove, feeling the warm night air strike his face and tousle his hair. He could smell distant woods, and he pictured his little house with a smile on his face.

The passenger window rolled back up, and Will looked over to see Hannibal sitting in the seat with a small frown on his face. 

Will grinned at him.

“Hey, I thought you’d left me,” he said, rolling his shoulders and feeling great despite how tired he was, “I haven’t seen you all day, since this morning. I wonder why I can only see you sometimes.”

Hannibal hummed in consideration.

“You did seem rather distracted today. I wonder if it has anything to do with your concentration,” he mused aloud.

Will shrugged.

“Maybe. It’s going to be nice to have actual conversations instead of just half a conversation and then written responses,” Will said, “and I might stop talking to my dogs so much if I have someone who actually understands what I’m saying. I’m sure it wasn’t exactly the most mentally healthy thing to be doing.”

Hannibal nodded, but he kept his gaze out the window. He was quiet again, like that morning. Will was happy enough with that, feeling comfortable in the silence.

“Wait, I just had a thought,” Will said after a while, “if you’re the thing from my dreams, then the dream with the cabin-”

“Was a memory from my childhood,” Hannibal supplied, “I hadn’t realized at that point that you were unaware I was both the source of your haunting and the source of your dreams. I was trying to help your understanding of myself develop if I could. I told you once before I wish to be understood.”

Will watched Hannibal from the corner of his eye. His tone was oddly flat, but at this point he couldn’t be sure that was abnormal for him. He hadn’t talked enough for Will to recognize his speech pattern yet.

“Well, that certainly does shed light on some things,” Will said.

Hannibal finally turned toward him, looking curious, but wary.

“On your reasons for doing certain things, at least,” Will added, “I mean, not every ghost ends up making people into serial killers, I’m sure. There would be more serial killers if they did, I would think. It does beg the question, though, how much influence do you really have on people if you aren’t possessing them?”

Hannibal seemed a bit upset that Will was questioning his power, which Will found hilarious. Will managed not to laugh, though, as Hannibal turned away again.

“Only as much as they give me,” he answered, “fear is the motivator I have used most commonly in the past, though I have combined it with their specific desires and weaknesses. I have a penchant for the psychological. I often choose highly suggestible individuals in order to make my work easier.”

Will considered that. It made sense, given everything else he knew about Hannibal. He talked like a psychiatrist, albeit an odd one. 

They made their way onto some more back roads, and the sound of crickets rose around them in the tall grasses. Will smiled and leaned his head closer to the window to feel the air on his face better. He hummed happily at the sensation, and almost jumped when he heard a low chuckle from the seat next to him.

Hannibal was looking at him with a strange look, and Will raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked.

Hannibal smiled lightly.

“I have heard it said that people tend to pick up mannerisms from their pets,” he said, sounding amused, “though I have never had the chance to see it firsthand. Thank you for the educational experience.”

Will felt his face grow warm. He had been sticking his head out the window like the dogs. Hannibal thought he was acting like a dog.

“Oh.”

Hannibal chuckled again, and Will swallowed.

“It is not unbecoming for you, Will,” Hannibal assured him as kindly as possible, “In fact, I thought it quite nice to see you so relaxed.”

Will smiled sheepishly.

“Yeah, well I guess I just had a pretty good day today for once,” he said.

Hannibal’s smile dropped and he returned to looking out the window in silence. 

Will furrowed his brow and kept driving. 

What was wrong with Hannibal? Was he always this moody? Will knew his moods could fluctuate oddly, but he hadn’t thought it was this bad. Maybe Hannibal was really the one who needed a psychiatrist between them. 

Will felt the tension from the day leaving his shoulders as they grew closer to his little house. He thought of the dogs, and of a nice glass of whiskey out on the porch. It sounded like a nice end to a relatively nice day.

Where did Hannibal fit into it?

Will glanced over at his companion and considered it.

Being able to see Hannibal more often might actually cause a few problems. Will had been largely able to pretend he wasn’t there before, but now it would feel rude to pretend he wasn’t there when he could see him. 

Hannibal didn’t seem like the kind to enjoy whiskey. Did he even need to eat or drink? Will hadn’t noticed any food missing, but it had been moved, so maybe Hannibal had eaten and Will just hadn’t realized it. He probably wasn’t going to be overly fond of walking out in the fields or the woods either, judging by his three piece suit. He was probably already annoyed by all the dogs. 

“Will, you needn’t worry so much,” Hannibal said.

Will glanced at him again. Hannibal was still looking out the window with a blank expression. 

“I am not so proud as to be above such pleasures as nature walks and being around animals. I didn’t take you as one to judge someone by their appearance.”

Will huffed a laugh, feeling a bit better about it.

“Well, you’re dead, and you still decide to look like that. It’s not my fault you dress like someone who should be called ‘lordship’. I was just trying to think of what you would prefer.”

Hannibal smiled, but it seemed sad for some reason.

“Thank you for the consideration, Will. As it happens, I was a lord, in my past life.”

Will raised his eyebrows and wished he wasn’t driving so he could fix Hannibal with an appropriate look of disbelief.

“Well, that sounds like a story. Care to elaborate, Lord Lecter? We still have a bit of a drive to fill,” Will said.

Hannibal’s sad smile faded back into a neutral frown. 

“Perhaps tomorrow,” he said, “I am not feeling quite in the mood for regaling you with the story of my youth at the moment.”

Will sighed softly.

He had thought they were getting somewhere. He thought they would be able to actually talk to each other. He thought they would be able to understand each other. 

Maybe Hannibal was just not as interested in Will now that he had learned more. That tended to happen with people too. The more they knew about Will, the less they wanted to know. It was probably foolish of him to think it would be different with a ghost.

They pulled up to the house after a while of silence, and Will got out of the car without a word. 

If Hannibal was going to give him the silent treatment, then Will might as well pretend he was just the annoying ghost he had been before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope no one caught fire during the celebrations of rising up against an unfair, unrepresentative, corrupt government. 
> 
> I also hope you all enjoyed this chapter. <3


	18. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of talking, a bit of fluff, mostly awkward. All winding up to something terrible I have planned. *maniacal laughter*

Will watched the dogs as they milled around the yard. He held his tumbler of whiskey and tried not to feel too frustrated.

Hannibal had claimed he wasn’t above this kind of thing, and yet he was nowhere to be seen now. Will was left to himself once again. 

It wasn’t as if he cared that much, honestly. Why would he? Hannibal could do what he wanted. He hadn’t exactly spent time hanging out with the dogs and Will before, so there was no reason to expect he would now. 

Will sighed, deciding it didn’t matter all that much. 

Will’s phone rang, and he saw it was Jack. He wasn’t sure what Jack would want, but he took a swig of whiskey before answering to prepare himself anyway.

“Hey,” Will said.

“Doctor Bloom tells me she won’t help me monitor your mental state anymore.”

Will grinned despite himself, deciding it was fine since Jack couldn’t see it. 

“Good for her,” he replied, “is that a problem for you, or do you have another psychiatrist in the wings, ready and raring to just be sent in to dig around in my life?”

Will blinked, and then Hannibal was sitting on the steps of the porch. He was smiling to himself, and watching the dogs the same way Will did. Will furrowed his brow, unsure why Hannibal kept disappearing and reappearing.

“I don’t want to intrude on your life, Will,” Jack said defensively.

Will chuckled.

“Could have fooled me,” he said, “but my question still stands, Jack.”

There was a heavy sigh on the other end before Jack answered.

“You wouldn’t talk to anyone I could come up with, am I right?” he asked.

Will huffed a laugh.

“You’re right. I’m not a fan of psychiatrists, but you already knew that when you decided to send Alana in. Too bad she’s a better person than that.”

Will knew he was making Jack upset, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Maybe he had had too much whiskey. He took another drink regardless.

“Will. I just want to make sure you aren’t going to break. I need to be sure I’m not breaking you,” Jack said.

Will scoffed.

“Maybe you should listen to people when they say not to put me in the field, then,” he snapped back. He tried to calm himself, taking a breath. “Jack, listen. I want to help you. I don’t mind working with you. I just don’t like it when you use other people to get to me. Just ask me yourself if you’re concerned. I know what’s going on in my own head.”

Jack was quiet for a moment, and Will wondered if he was upset, or if he was just thinking.

“Fine. Will, I want you to be honest with me when I ask. Are you alright? With everything you’ve got going on in your head, are you really alright?”

Will looked back at Hannibal, who was pretending to not listen to Will’s conversation. Will remembered his nightmares, and the notes, and how Hannibal kept disappearing. He was genuinely being haunted, and the ghost was trying to seem sort of friendly? 

Despite everything, Will actually didn’t feel that bad. 

“I’m really fine, Jack. I’ll let you know the moment I’m not. I can help you as long as you keep listening to me,” Will replied.

Jack hummed on the other end, apparently satisfied with that.

“Okay. I’ll tell you next time I need you.”

Will ended the call and finished his whiskey. He relaxed back into his chair and Winston trotted up to him with his tongue lolling out. He set his head right in Will’s lap, and Will grinned down at him.

Will scratched Winston between the ears. Winston seemed to know when Will was upset, and always tried to cheer him up. It was nice, and Will thought dogs were so much more considerate than humans. Even his ghost, who hung around and spent more time around Will than his dogs, was being weird and hard to understand. Dogs were more simple.

“Doctor Bloom seems very invested in your well being,” Hannibal said, glancing over to where Will was.

Will shrugged.

“I’d like to say we’re friends,” he said, “and maybe, now that she doesn’t feel obligated to keep it professional due to Jack, we can get there.”

Hannibal hummed in consideration.

“She certainly seemed to be friendly with you today.”

Will laughed in surprise. He hadn’t expected Hannibal to care about Alana. 

“Oh. You said you knew Alana, or at least had been around her before. Care to elaborate?” Will asked, thinking back to some of their first conversations.

Hannibal nodded.

“I have traveled quite a lot, as you should know. I was travelling with a student at John Hopkins while Alana was a student there. I found her pleasant, courteous, and not my target demographic. She is not unstable or easy to manipulate. I did enjoy her company, though.”

Will nodded, ruffling Winston’s fur some more.

“Well, I’m glad you decided not to bother her like you bothered Eldon. She deserves better than that,” he said.

Hannibal looked over and studied Will for a moment.

“Do you believe you do not deserve better?” he asked.

Will huffed a laugh.

“If I deserved better before, I certainly don’t anymore,” he answered, “I’ve let you possess me and kill a man. If I ever deserved better, I’ve surpassed that. I guess the only thing keeping me sane now is the fact that you are actually real.”

Hannibal tipped his head curiously. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way because of my presence,” Hannibal said.

It sounded like he meant it, and Will looked up at him. He really seemed serious, and Will wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to it. It wasn’t often that Hannibal sounded that genuine, at least when he said actually nice things. He sounded plenty serious when he told Will all about the guy he had killed while he was in Will’s body.

“Well, it is what it is,” Will said, “and I’m over it. There’s no point in dwelling on what might have been.”

Hannibal nodded thoughtfully.

“I suppose so,” he said.

They sat in silence for a while, just watching the dogs and listening to the wind through the trees and the grass. Hannibal didn’t disappear, and Will was still wondering why he could only see him sometimes. He didn’t know what determined Hannibal’s visibility.

Will made sure all the dogs came in after the sun was down, and he made sure they were all alright and safe. Buster had a thorn in his foot, but Will removed it without incident. Hannibal just watched in silence for the entire ordeal, and Will was wondering what he was thinking. He felt a bit weird about just being watched the entire time.

“Do you sleep at all?” Will asked as he got ready for bed, “I mean, you’re dead, so I don’t know what to expect.”

Hannibal smiled lightly.

“I do not require sleep, no,” he answered, “does that make you feel uncomfortable about going to bed while I am here? I remind you I have been here for quite some time, and the only thing that has changed is your ability to see me.”

Will laughed.

“I know that,” he said, “I was mostly just curious. I think I might feel a bit uncomfortable if you just sit and watch me as I try to fall asleep, though. It’s just human nature.”

Hannibal nodded. 

Will wasn’t sure what the agreement meant, but Hannibal stood up and walked over to the bed. Will was more confused. Hannibal laid down in the space that Will didn’t typically sleep in, and closed his eyes. He looked comfortable, and Will wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

“Uh, what…?” Will said, just completely confused.

“I am attempting to make you feel more comfortable. I may not need sleep, but I am capable of it. I will sleep while you sleep.”

Will felt his face grow warm, but he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like Hannibal was going to do anything. Hannibal was just a ghost. It was fine. Hannibal might have even done this before while Will couldn’t see him. 

Will shook his head at himself and walked over. He lay down in bed next to Hannibal, still feeling weird about it. He looked at the ghost as he lay in the dark, tracing his silhouette and trying to understand what was going on. 

It would have been so much simpler if Hannibal had just disappeared before Will wanted to go to sleep. As it was, he was stuck in this situation. He probably shouldn’t have said anything to Hannibal about going to bed, but here they were. 

Will found it actually remarkably easy to fall asleep. His eyelids grew heavy, and he felt himself slipping away despite the presence in the bed with him. 


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another killer for Will to deal with! Yay!

Will was tethered to a table. He couldn’t move, and he felt hands in his hair. He could see the blindingly bright room around him, and the shadows of people as they moved around him. He couldn’t move his head because of the strap holding it down, and he struggled against the restraints holding his arms and legs.

A face appeared in his vision, and Will recognized it.

It was Allen Geller. The man Hannibal had made him kill when he had possessed him. 

This was a dream. Will knew it was a dream. Of course it was a dream. 

Allen grinned, his smile seeming too wide somehow. It was like his mouth was just a gash in his face rather than something that was supposed to be there.

Allen placed a finger on Will’s lips as if to shush him despite the fact that Will hadn’t tried to make any sound. Without thinking, Will bit the digit, and blood spurted over them both. Allen’s face contorted into an expression of anger and pain as he pulled his hand away.

Will was roughly torn from the table by many sets of hands. They pushed and pulled at his limbs, shoving him into a straight jacket, and a mask Will recognized from the dream before. It was a muzzle. He must truly be insane. The buckles and straps were fastened and pulled painfully tight. Will writhed, trying to pull out of them or release the stress put on the bindings.

Allen was there again. He was grinning his gash of a grin and laughing at Will as he contorted and struggled. Allen was wearing the stark white of an orderly at a mental hospital. He was so neat and prim as he cackled at Will’s pain.

Will snarled, feeling the muzzled press against his jaw and face in complaint at the motion. 

Allen knelt down in front of Will, still grinning. 

Will hated his grin.

There was a syringe, and Will felt the sharp pain of the needle entering the flesh of his neck. Will couldn’t do anything as he felt the liquid flow into his veins and burn him from the inside out.

Will jolted upright in bed, sweating and panting. 

\---

That had been the worst nightmare yet. He would have to talk to Hannibal to see if there was anything to be done about it.

Will looked around and realized that he was laying on the side of the bed that Hannibal had been in the night before. He hoped he hadn’t moved there and made Hannibal feel uncomfortable. Not that he really thought that could have happened. Nothing seemed to throw off the ghost.

Will looked around, but he didn’t see his poltergeist anywhere. 

Will rolled out of bed and the dogs all milled around his legs as he walked into the kitchen. Nothing was out of place, or moved from where they had been the day before. Will still didn’t see Hannibal anywhere, but he supposed that could be expected. He still didn’t know the rules about all of this.

Will let the dogs out and started some coffee.

It was a bit odd that Hannibal hadn’t started some for him, but maybe it was another one of those things he didn’t feel was welcome now that Will could see him so much.

Will pulled out some paper and stuck it on the table with a pen in case Hannibal needed to say anything while Will couldn’t see him. It would be frustrating to have to keep switching between the modes of communication, but until they figured everything out he couldn’t really complain.

Will kept an eye on the paper as he got ready for work. He left the radio off when he got into the car, letting Hannibal decide if they would listen to anything that morning. Through the entire drive, the radio remained dormant, and Will wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He didn’t see Hannibal at all either.

Will walked in and prepared everything for his class, feeling on edge the entire time. It was like waiting for a fire drill. He felt his senses heighten, and he tried to notice anything that could give away the presence of his poltergeist. It was weird for Hannibal to be so quiet. He usually at least straightened a few papers, or tucked in a chair or something. He wasn’t doing anything, and Will had no idea where he was. 

Throughout the entire day, Will felt like he was trapped in a room, waiting for something to happen. He knew the students noticed how alert he was, and he got quite a few odd glances from them, and it was even worse than when Hannibal had first shown up. Every time a pen was dropped, or a paper was flipped, he jumped and turned toward the sound. 

He had never been this jumpy. Even before he had gotten used to the antics of a ghost’s constant presence, he had never reacted this acutely to small sounds and movements.

Once his last class was over, Will ignored the concerned looks he was getting from his students and he pressed his hands down on his desk. He felt the tenseness in his muscles, and his arms were trembling with nerves. He took a shaky breath and tried to stop himself from being so nervous.

“Will!”

Will just about jumped out of his skin, spinning around to see Beverly at the entrance of his lecture hall. He sighed, trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest and breathe regularly.

“Hey Beverly,” he said, “Jack have something for me?”

Beverly frowned, looking him over.

“You don’t look good,” she said, “you look pale, tired, and sweaty. You look bad.”

Will huffed a laugh. She certainly said what was on her mind. He liked that about her, even when it put him in a tough spot.

“I’m alright. I’ve just been a little on edge today. Give me the news. I know Jack has something if you’re here.”

Beverly crossed her arms, and Will knew she wasn’t convinced, but she let it slide. For the time.

“A pair of city workers pulled some bodies from a canal,” she said, “They look like they’ve been preserved in some way. Jack wants to know what you can see.”

Will nodded and packed up his things, trying to play off the fact that he was having a hard time listening. He just couldn’t allow his attention to be consumed by focusing on her words while he still had no idea where Hannibal was. 

“Okay. You gonna tell me how they were preserved on the way over, or does Jack want me to guess after getting a look?” he asked, trying for sarcasm, but realizing he fell flat by the look on Beverly’s face. 

“I’ll give you the run down,” she confirmed, “but I have to ask. Are you okay?”

Will shrugged, trying not to jump too obviously when one of his pens fell on the floor. 

“I just didn’t sleep well last night, I guess,” he said.

Honestly, he had slept fine, aside from the nightmare. He had gotten used to those, and they had stopped leaving him feeling tired during the day. He had felt fine that morning, but his nerves had gotten more frayed over the day. 

Whatever game Hannibal was playing, Will didn’t appreciate it.

Beverly didn’t seem to buy it, but she wasn’t going to pry. She had already shown her concern, and if Will wanted her to know then he would tell her. 

They walked out and Beverly got into one of the FBI cars with Will. Beverly was driving, thankfully, because Will still didn’t know where they were going. He didn’t even want to think about what she would think about watching him drive in this state. With his luck, he would get them into a wreck.

“So, they’ve been covered in some sort of resin, and injected with something. We don’t know much yet. We’ve got at least three, but they were still looking when Jack sent me to get you. We might end up with more.”

Will nodded, looking out the window as they drove closer to trees and water. He felt a tad more relaxed at the thought.

“Silicone,” he said.

Beverly was quiet for a moment.

“What about it?”

Will shrugged.

“I’m betting they were injected with silicone if the killer really wanted them preserved. It’s used to make resin coated models out of fish,” he explained.

Beverly didn’t have to say anything for Will to know what she was thinking. He looked over at her with a wry smile.

“I fish,” he added, “But if the killer was making models out of these people, then there must be something wrong with the ones he tossed out. They didn’t turn out. We’re going to need to look into missing people. He has to have a few that turned out well enough for him. And if he’s not done, then there will be more to come. Once we identify the ones we found, we’ll have a better idea of the perimeter where we should be looking at for missing people. I’ll need pictures, and a map, and reports of what we find in the bodies.”

Beverly nodded. She smiled a bit to herself, and Will realized he had sounded more like himself, and his muscles had relaxed a bit as he talked. Turning to the familiar and stimulating work of building a killer’s mind had distracted him from his worries.

“Sounds like stuff we can do,” Beverly said, “One of the bodies was partially sealed. It was rotting from the inside out. If the killer wanted to preserve the bodies, is that enough to discard one for?”

Will nodded.

“Whatever he’s doing, he’s still figuring out how to do it.”


	20. 20

Will looked at the mottled flesh of the bodies and felt his stomach twist with disgust, but it wasn’t at the horror of the sight. It was from disappointment.

“They have failed me. They haven’t retained their integrity as material for my work. They are no longer worthy of this design. My design.”

Will stared at them as Price and Zeller worked around him. Beverly eventually walked up with a file in her hands to talk to him.

“We found traces of BHT, a color preservative. They have enough heroin in their systems to kill them and then some. They are all different ethnicities, from different states, nothing to link them together,” she read, “they disappeared with their vehicles, only to end up here.”

She handed the file to Will and he took it with an absent nod of thanks. He walked up and leaned closer to one of the bodies.

There were eyelets. They had been strung to something.

“How is he choosing them?” Jack wondered aloud. 

Will knew he didn’t expect an answer, but he had one.

“Aesthetic,” he said simply, “He’s tethering them to something, maybe each other. They are each different skin tones, for different brushstrokes. They were definitely strung together. To conjoin them and keep them in place in his masterpiece. His selection looks random, unless you look at it with his eyes. They are each a different shade for his palette. If this is the size of his brushstrokes, imagine the size of the work.”

Jack seemed angry, and Price and Zeller were appropriately horrified. Beverly furrowed her brow and turned back to look at the bodies.

“Alright, get Will that list of people he asked for. We need everything we can get to stop this bastard before he kills more people,” he commanded.

Will wasn’t sure who he was directing the instructions to, but the team seemed to understand well enough. Beverly went back to looking over the bodies, Zeller got on his computer right away, and Price read through some papers like his life depended on it.

Jack turned back to Will with a frown.

“Do you have anything else that might help at the moment?” he asked.

It was odd that Jack’s tone was so agreeable. Will thought he might be able to tell he wasn’t exactly on the top of his game that day, though he had been trying to hide it.

Will ran a hand over his face and sighed.

“I’d look in the cracks in the resin for fibers or something else,” he offered, “They were in the water so long I don’t know if you will find anything, but the broken and chipped edges might have caught something. Beverly will be able to find it if it’s there.”

Jack nodded, and Will saw Beverly smile as she worked. She had probably heard him. 

\---

They had a new body, and something was different about it. Beverly had told him they weren’t sure what it meant, but the new one had been torn away from the killer’s art piece. Will was curious to see.

The killer would not have torn anything from his work. No matter the imperfection, it could damage the rest if one part were removed too harshly. No matter the flaw, it would be removed with the same care it had been placed.

“His name’s Roland Umber,” Price told him as he uncovered the body on the slab, “He has the same profile as the other victims.”

Will looked, and he saw.

“He escaped,” he said softly.

The team exchanged confused glances.

“Well, he’s dead, so not really,” Zeller said.

Will wanted to roll his eyes, but they were fixed instead on the tear pattern of the boy’s face. It was jagged, and would have been extremely painful, but he had done it to himself in order to escape whatever horror he had awoken to find himself in. Will almost envied him, because he had seen what the killer was making.

“He probably had a tolerance for Heroin, so the dose didn’t kill him,” Will continued, “the killer thought he was dead, so they put him into their art piece. He woke up later and tore himself from it. The killer would have put him back if they had caught him. He escaped. Track tide and current patterns from where he was found. We’re looking for someplace big and empty. Somewhere not many people are or go, and where someone can use paint strokes the size of a full grown man to create their art.”

Zeller picked up a file and flipped through.

“He  _ was _ in an outpatient treatment program,” he said, “for drug abuse.”

He said it as if it was the one bit of information that lost him a bet. Will wasn’t interested in winning, but he was interested in doing his job.

“Beverly, did you find anything in the cracks in the resin?” Will asked.

Beverly shook her head.

“I haven’t gotten to this one yet, but the others didn’t have anything.”

Will nodded.

“You’ll find something on Roland. He got away, and he ran. He would have had much more interaction with wherever the killer brings them to work.”

Beverly nodded and immediately grabbed some tools and came back over to start getting to work. Will just stood and watched for a moment, allowing himself to still focus on the case and not on everything else that was vying for his attention. 

It was such a shame. 

Roland had been perfect. He had preserved well and the color was as alive as could be. He had been the perfect subject. 

The images of all the missing people Will had been given swirled around, and he placed Roland into the spectrum. He had been perfect, and now the killer would have to find someone else to replace him. It was such a shame he had managed to escape. 

“Something on your mind?” Jack asked.

Will blinked and looked up at him.

“More like  _ in _ my mind,” Will said, gesturing to the body, “just the killer. He’s not going to be happy about Roland escaping, but he’s just going to find someone else.”

Jack wasn’t happy about that either. 

“Then we have to find him before that happens,” Jack said.

Will shook his head distractedly.

“I’ve done all I can for you now Jack. I haven’t been sleeping well. I need to get home and try to rest,” he said, feeling a headache start forming in the back of his skull.

Jack huffed.

“I need you here so we can get to the location the moment we have it,” Jack said, gesturing to Price and Zeller who were huddled together at a computer.

Will sighed. It was actually not a completely unreasonable request. They were bound to find something pretty quickly, and Beverly was bound to find something too. Will, himself, was dying to know what the artist was creating, and he would have been almost heartbroken if they all went without him. 

He was just really nervous about Hannibal. Will hadn’t seen or heard from him in days, and it was really starting to fray his nerves. He woke up every morning feeling less rested, and he knew it was probably because he was stressed. He jumped at nearly every small sound, and everyone was starting to notice. His students barely dared to breathe in class for fear of causing him to completely snap. He hated it, but he couldn’t help it. He felt like Hannibal had to be hiding behind a corner somewhere, just waiting to scare the hell out of him.

What he wasn’t willing to admit was that he might have made up Hannibal. Hannibal might have just been a creation of his abused mental state. He might have been right from the beginning. He didn’t know what it meant that his hallucination had disappeared, but since he hadn’t received treatment, it couldn’t be good. 

“Alright, Jack,” Will said, shrugging. 

Will could tell Jack hadn’t expected him to give in that quickly. He looked at Will, really looked at him, and probably noticed how exhausted he looked. Will wondered if he was mentally planning to go easier on him, or trying to think of a new psychiatrist to set on him.

“We’ve got something!” Price announced, waving Jack and Will over to where they had a map marked up. 

At the same time, Beverly grinned, lifting something from Roland’s body.

“Gotcha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff is about to go down!!! 
> 
> ... at least that's the plan. I'll do my best.


	21. 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably less exciting than expected, given my note on the last chapter... sorry. I still had things I needed to include, and just not enough room in one chapter to get them over with. 
> 
> We might not get Hannibal back for a few chapters yet.   
> Again, I apologize.

The team was packing up and getting ready to head out when Alana walked in. She didn’t seem to notice Will, looking distracted and nervous. She had her head ducked lower than normal and her shoulders were slightly hunched. It was really unusual for her.

Jack caught sight of her and immediately made his way over to talk to her. He didn’t seem to notice she was acting strange.

They talked quietly for a moment as the team gathered their things to head out. 

The location was a silo near fields of corn. Beverly had found fibers from corn stalks and leaves caught in the cracks in the resin. There had been three possible locations after Price and Zeller followed the current patterns. Only one of them was near corn. Will knew the silo would be the perfect place for the killer to create his work of art. 

Will finally caught Alana’s eye before they left, and she smiled lightly at him. Something really must have been bothering her. She didn’t seem happy.

“How have you been, Will?” she asked.

Will shrugged.

“We’re about to catch another killer, so I guess I can say I’m doing pretty well,” he replied, “how about you?”

Her smile wavered, just enough for Will to notice. 

“I’m doing well,” she said, though Will didn’t believe her.

Jack walked away and they were left with each other. Alana tensed slightly as he did, and Will wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to help. He reached out to touch her shoulder, thinking he might comfort her.

Alana flinched and pulled away. Realizing what she had done, she blushed lightly and swallowed.

“I’m sorry, Will. I’m not upset with you. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve just been plagued by nightmares for the past couple days, and the worst ones are about you.”

Will pulled back, feeling his heart drop. 

Alana was having nightmares about him? Did he hurt her in the dreams? 

“Graham! We’re going. Get over here!” Jack called.

Will jumped, nearly knocking over a table and trembling slightly as he righted himself.

Alana looked at him with concern, likely realizing he was also feeling off.

Will was torn. He wanted to find out what was going on with Alana, but he knew he had to see what the killer had been making. 

“Can we talk when I get back?” Will asked.

Alana nodded, no longer trying to fake a smile. Will sighed and headed out with the team. 

\---

A stream of agents headed into the silo ahead of the team, and Will lingered even behind them. He had his eyes fixed on the ladder that led to the top. He wanted to go up there and see the artwork the way it should be seen. From above.

The team all made their way in, and Will swallowed his nerves as he began to climb the ladder. No one took note of him, or if they did then they chocked it up to him being the odd member of the team. He looked out over the fields of corn as he climbed up higher. 

It was funny. Most people didn’t realize exactly how huge silos are. 

Once he was at the top, Will heard Jack call his name, but he only leaned over the hole in the top and peered down at something more beautiful than he had expected. 

The bodies had been preserved, and posed, and placed perfectly to create an eye that stared directly back up at him. The eye of god was looking at him, and it was empty. Will stared, and God stared back, but he was above it. Will was higher than God.

Jack’s voice cut through the floating sensation and forced Will to come back to reality. There were agents milling about among the bodies that created the eye. Will turned and saw that Jack was staring up at him with his arms crossed. Will nodded and made his way back down the ladder.

Jack was waiting for him at the bottom, and Will kept his eyes down. The image of the eye was still swimming in his mind.

“So, you saw what this bastard has been doing with the people?” Jack demanded.

Will nodded.

“It’s an eye,” he said, “the eye of god. It’s empty. It’s dead. To the killer, there is no god.”

Will knew that was how the killer saw his own work, but he didn’t agree with it. There was so much more in this painting than a dead god.

Jack nodded. 

“We didn’t find him, but we have an idea of who we are looking for,” he said.

A bit of movement caught Will’s eye, and he glanced over to the corn field. 

How had the agents managed to miss him? The killer was literally standing right there, just beyond the line of corn. He was watching them, and his eyes were fixed on Will.

Will stopped moving, staring directly at the other pair of eyes. He tilted his head and furrowed his brow. It was odd that the killer had stayed when the agents showed up too. He must value his work, and maybe even planned to die with it if need be.

“He’s here, Jack,” Will said, still not moving.

Jack followed Will’s gaze and must have seen the man. He waved for someone else to come over, but the man was raising a rifle and leveling it at Will. Will didn’t dare move, now. Any sudden movement could make the man shoot, and Will wasn’t the only one in the line of fire.

Will had stared down the barrel of a gun before, and he honestly wasn’t that frightened by the sight. He could see the curiosity in the eyes of the other as they stared each other down. 

The killer had heard Will talking about his work. He wanted to talk to Will.

Why did that have to happen again?

Will didn’t want another Eldon Stammets.

Will saw a flicker of something in the eyes of the other, before they went blank and emotionless. Will knew he was about to be shot. The killer wasn’t curious enough.

A flash of movement, and a shot rang out.

Will didn’t even flinch, though he had been jumping at everything that had happened that day. In the face of actual danger, he was unfazed. 

Will hadn’t been shot after all. 

The flash of movement was a figure that had rushed out of the corn near the killer and grabbed the gun. The bullets went into the air rather than Will’s chest, and the two figures wrestled for a moment.

The agents all rushed forward at once, preparing to capture the killer. They trampled down corn stalks in their wake and eventually drug the man out from the field in cuffs.

Will watched for another person, the figure he had seen, but no one came forward. 

Was that just another figment of his imagination? Had he actually seen something? 

The man had surely actually been attacked, but Will didn’t see anyone who could have been the attacker. He only saw the agents, and the man. The man whose eyes were as empty as his creation. 

Jack had Will whisked away, out of danger. He apparently felt like Will might still be in some line of fire if he wasn’t put away quickly. Maybe Alana had said something to him again and he was worried about upsetting her. 

Will was put into the passenger seat of a car, and he allowed himself to be moved about by the others. He was still thinking about the eye, and the blurry figure he had seen, and the way the killer had observed him.

The killer had dead eyes when he was going to kill Will, but his eyes saw so much beauty otherwise. 

\---

“Will.”

Will hadn’t slept well, again. He was starting to really suffer from exhaustion, and he was drinking enough coffee to kill a man on the daily. 

Will turned and saw Alana walking up, but she seemed even more nervous than she had been last time he had seen her. Her delicate hands were trembling at her sides, and her pretty lips were pressed into a thin frown.

“He wants to talk to you,” Alana said, her voice smaller than usual, matching her posture.

“No,” Will said, “not this time. I don’t need more time to have him in my head. I don’t want to talk to any more killers. I profile them, and help catch them. My job is done with him. I really want to know what’s bothering you, though. I can tell there’s something really wrong.”

Alana tried to offer him a reassuring smile, but she couldn’t keep eye contact. That was usually Will’s problem. Not hers.

“It’s really nothing you can do anything about. It shouldn’t even be bothering me as much as it is,” she confessed, “But the nightmares have just been getting worse, and the images linger while I’m awake. I can’t shake them.”

Will knew how that was. He knew very well what it was like to have intrusive thoughts and images. He dealt with them more than most people, and he knew it was like living in Hell. 

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to be around me if I make you uncomfortable. I understand how difficult that is. I can tell Jack to stop delivering his messages through you too. He really shouldn’t be doing that anyway.”

Alana sighed, nodding. 

“But you aren’t doing well either,” she said, “Maybe we need to find solace in the other person.”

Will shook his head.

“I might not be sleeping well, but what I’m dealing with is probably better than what you are feeling. Maybe you should talk to someone.”

Alana huffed a laugh.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” she asked, echoing Will’s words from a while before.

Will felt bad for ever having been rude to her. She really deserved better than that. 

“Alana, you know I’m not a psychiatrist, and I can’t help you. I really think you should stop worrying so much about me. You don’t worry about yourself nearly enough. Right now, I’m doing better than you are, so you should really worry about yourself first.”

Alana frowned. She reached out and slowly rolled a pencil off Will’s desk. It clattered on the ground, and Will tripped backwards over himself. Alana watched him with concern.

“You’re not alright either, Will. I’ll talk to someone if you talk to someone.”

Will sighed, brushing himself off and nodding. 

“Fine. Do you have someone in mind? I don’t want you to be my psychiatrist, you know,” he conceded.

Alana smiled, and she seemed relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is early because I am going camping and won't be able to update on the day I should. That's also going to make it so I am late to replying to any comments, but I'll get to them once I have the chance. 
> 
> Next chapter will be up on the 30th as long as I survive the untamed wilderness.  
> <3


	22. 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will talks to a psychiatrist. It goes better than he expected.

“So, would you care to explain why my colleague was so intent on having me take you on as a patient?”

Bedelia DuMaurier was an odd psychiatrist. Will could sense that she had some buried trauma that she hadn’t dealt with, but he didn’t understand why she would be ignoring it within herself. She was a psychiatrist, and should understand the benefits of dealing with it. She was calm, collected, and perfectly in control of herself. It was really very odd for a psychiatrist.

“She has been having nightmares, and she said she wouldn’t talk to a therapist or psychiatrist about it unless I promised to talk to someone as well. I have a history of not exactly having the best mental health.”

Bedelia nodded, a perfectly measured motion.

“And you have not spoken with anyone else?”

Will shrugged.

“I’ve told her some things, but not recently, no. I don’t really like psychiatrists. No offense.”

Bedelia allowed herself a faint smile.

“None taken. I understand that what I do can be rather intrusive. I have been told you suffer from an empathy disorder, which may cause therapy to feel even more so,” she said.

Will grimaced.

“My empathy disorder is not what bothers me, most of the time. I’ve learned to deal with that. Recently I’ve been having other problems.”

Bedelia tilted her head, studying Will in a way that was less intrusive than most people. 

“What _does_ bother you, then?” she asked, her tone only mildly curious.

Will wasn’t sure he liked her very much. She was too false. She was elegant, but not in the same way Alana was. She hid behind her mannerisms as if the world would hurt her if she ever truly acted with passion.

Something must have happened to her.

“I was actually doing a lot better for a bit,” Will admitted, “but then I stopped dreaming again and my sleep quality took a nosedive. I’m just tired now. That’s all.”

Bedelia didn’t respond right away. She just looked at him as if she might be able to see through the cracks in his veneer. She couldn’t though, and that seemed to bother her.

“What might have changed to cause this?”

Hannibal leaving. 

That was what Will thought immediately, but he daren’t give voice to the fear. For all he knew, Hannibal wasn’t real.

“A… friend of mine recently left the area. I guess it’s weird to not see them around anymore,” Will offered. It was the closest thing to the truth that he could come up with.

“And you say you stopped dreaming, again,” Bedelia noted, “did you not dream before?”

Will shook his head.

“As long as I can remember, I never dreamt. I would just sleep, and it was like a void. Recently, I started dreaming, and they were mostly nightmares. But then they stopped again. Now I’m not sleeping as well as I used to either.”

Bedelia made a note on a pad of paper, and Will hated the sight. He hated feeling like someone was taking notes on him and keeping their thoughts a secret.

“And your friend, did they come into the area just before you started to dream?”

Will felt stupid now. He shouldn’t have even bothered trying to talk about Hannibal, no matter how vague he was.

“Uh, I guess. I met Hannibal through a mutual acquaintance fairly recently, actually.”

A moment too late, Will realized his slip. Bedelia was staring at him with wide eyes.

“Your friend’s name is _Hannibal_?” she asked.

Will thought he could see a slight tremble in her hand, and he leaned forward. Now _he_ was the curious one. 

“Do you know a Hannibal?” he asked.

Bedelia seemed frozen in her chair, unsure of what to say.

Will smiled.

“That explains it. I bet he did something to you too. That’s why you’re like this. It’s just my luck to keep meeting people he’s messed with. That stupid poltergeist wants to just ruin everyone.”

Bedelia was white as a ghost herself at this point, and she nearly dropped her notepad.

“I’m sorry. Have you been experiencing hallucinations?” she asked, trying to bring everything back into her control.

Will laughed.

“I thought I was, but if you know Hannibal, that means I’m not crazy. When he left, I thought I must have just made him up. It’s a relief to know he’s real.”

Bedelia smiled, but she seemed extremely bothered.

“I can imagine,” she said.

Will laughed again, feeling free for once in a long time.

“No you can’t,” he said, then explained, “no offense, again. My empathy disorder makes it so I can understand anyone on a very intimate level. I know you can’t imagine how I feel, but I don’t care. I’m just glad to be sane.”

Bedelia pressed her lips together in a way that let Will know she was beginning to question whether he really was sane or not.

“You were honestly questioning your own sanity,” Bedelia noted.

Will shrugged, just glad to be there at this point. 

“I have a tendency to do that,” he replied, “I’ve been through some rough patches mentally.”

Bedelia took another note, though she was certainly shaken. Will thought she probably would have a hard time going back to her cool composure now. One of her secrets had been revealed.

“Did Hannibal ever try to get you to kill anyone?” Will asked, albeit impulsively.

Bedelia dropped her pen and it clattered to the ground. Will didn’t jump, and he smiled at the realization. He was starting to feel better already. Maybe therapy really did work.

“I don’t know why you would ask that,” she answered, picking up the pen and nervously brushing off her skirt, “and it really should be me asking the questions.”

Will shrugged, relaxing back into the chair. 

“He told me he typically stuck around psychopaths and killers, or people who were easily persuaded to kill. And sorry about the questions. I guess I got used to the quid pro quo from talking with him. We had a deal about questions.”

Bedelia furrowed her brow, tapping her pen in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. Will sort of felt victorious for having broken down her walls so quickly. Not much fazed her, but he had done it without batting an eye.

“Interesting. As long as I knew him, he refused to reveal anything about himself aside from his name. Has he tried to convince _you_ to kill anyone?” She asked in return, clearly trying to steer the conversation back to the original track.

Unfortunately for her, it had been more than just derailed. There was no salvaging it.

“I told him it wasn’t allowed,” Will replied, “Threatened him with an exorcism if he tried anything. He was oddly respectful of my wishes. Was he the same way with you?”

Bedelia was curious, horrified, and slightly insulted. 

“Not in so many words,” she said, “he did not outwardly go against me, though he made it clear he still had his own agenda. We were not _friends_. We did not part in good graces with each other.”

Will whistled.

“It’s impressive you managed to part without dying or being incarcerated. How did it go?”

Bedelia didn’t want to answer. 

“How did _you_ part with him?” she deflected.

Will was actually enjoying this. He hadn’t thought he would, but now that he knew something about her, the interaction felt less one-sided. It was more of a conversation than most he had with psychiatrists.

“Not by my choice,” he confessed, “I don’t know why he left. I thought everything was actually going pretty well, but he just up and left in the middle of the night. Haven’t seen him since.”

Bedelia visibly reacted, a slight tensing of her muscles.

“Have you actually _seen_ him?” she asked.

Will nodded.

“Yeah. Not much at first, but more as time went on. He told me it was weird, and we never did figure out why I could see him. Now, answer _my_ question. On what terms exactly did he leave you?”

Bedelia was very uncomfortable with how this was going. She probably wasn’t used to having her patients ask her this kind of question, if any. 

“Unlike you, I carried out my threat of an exorcism. I had this house cleansed and protected. I have not been bothered by him since,” she replied primly.

Will looked around in consideration. He had thought it was odd that they were having their session in her house rather than an office, but it made sense. Not only would she be able to avoid meeting Hannibal again, if she had any clients who were troubled by a ghost they would feel better here, and it would basically condition them to continue coming to her. 

What a shrewd business practice.

“I never had the need,” Will said with a shrug, “he was fairly considerate, aside from the odd knife to the throat. We got along.”

Bedelia almost seemed frightened of Will now. Her posture shifted ever so slightly, as if she might need to run away.

“I deal with serial killers on the daily,” Will said, “I’m not afraid to die.”


	23. 23

“Doctor DuMaurier told me she can’t continue to see you,” Alana accused, “I’ve never heard her say she couldn’t treat someone before. What did you do?”

Well, that was a surprise. Will hadn’t thought it had gone that poorly. He had rather enjoyed it. It had been nice to be able to talk about Hannibal with someone. He supposed that probably made her uncomfortable though. 

Will considered his response as he shuffled a few papers around on his desk.

“I didn’t try to shake her, if that’s what you’re asking,” Will replied, “I actually thought it went well, surprisingly. I guess I’m just not the therapy type.”

Alana was fidgeting nervously, and still couldn’t make eye contact with Will. Will wondered what happened in her dreams that made her so afraid of him, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

“How did _your_ session go?” Will asked, choosing the safer path.

Alana shrugged, seeming uncharacteristically unsure.

“I probably make a terrible patient,” she answered, “being a psychiatrist myself. I tend to try to self-diagnose, which I know can be frustrating.”

Will nodded.

“Well, evidently you're not as terrible of a patient as I am,” he joked.

Alana smiled. It wasn’t a laugh, but it was good to see she didn’t just hate him because of the dreams. She still couldn’t shake their influence, but she was strong. He was just sorry he had anything to do with her suffering.

“I can try to find someone else to see you,” she offered.

Will shook his head. That was the last thing he wanted, in truth. He had only agreed to Bedelia in the first place to make sure Alana got help. He didn’t feel like he needed it as much as everyone else thought he did.

“Don’t worry. I’m actually feeling better after just the one session. I haven’t been nearly as jumpy or nervous since. I think she really brought some clarity. I’ll be alright.”

Alana pressed her lips together, and Will knew she was worried for him. 

“If you’re not, will you tell me?” she asked.

Will nodded.

“Will you tell me if being around me really bothers _you_?”

Alana chewed on her lip nervously. Will had never seen her as anxious as she had been recently. He hated himself for being the cause, no matter how indirect it was on his part. 

“I can’t make that promise,” she confessed, “I tend to put the needs of others before mine.”

Will nodded in understanding. She really couldn’t shake the images the nightmares had planted. It was both disappointing and concerning. He had hoped, but now he just worried.

“Then you should probably be going. I’m sure you have things to do, and I don’t want to keep you,” he said.

Will organized the papers into his bag and started cleaning up his desk to leave. Alana stood in silence for a moment until he came around the desk.

“Will,” she said softly, making him stop and turn to her. 

It was strange to be the one capable of making eye contact and being comfortable around another when they couldn’t. Will was very rarely in this position.

“I’m sorry. You deserve better,” she said.

Will was stunned by the words, so much so that he was frozen in place as Alana left the room ahead of him. 

Maybe what was so startling about what she had said was how it mirrored what he had told Hannibal about _her_. He believed she deserved better than this, but that he himself did not. She apparently reflected the sentiment, and thought she was being detrimental to his atmosphere in some way.

When Will finally shook himself out of his stupor, he made his way out to his car and started on his way home.

He turned the radio onto a pop station. It was a habit now, trying to annoy Hannibal into changing the station to betray his presence. It had so far not worked in the slightest, but he held out some level of hope.

The radio spewed the grating, popular melodies all the way up the drive until Will shut off the engine.

\---

Weeks after Hannibal had left, Will was feeling less. 

He moved around his house, feeling the need for movement, but no motivation for action. The dogs had followed him lazily for a few minutes before they had abandoned the task to pursue their own interests. The progression of time was only a dull recognition in the back of his mind, not truly registering in his consciousness. It was like walking through molasses. 

He was no longer constantly anxious. He felt more like he was growing accustomed to being alone. He hadn’t exactly realized how normal it had become for him to have someone else around to talk to. He didn’t feel like talking to the dogs anymore, and he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

It just wasn’t the same as having an actual person, ghost or otherwise.

Will flopped down onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, distantly aware of the sounds of the dogs moving about.

He was slowly growing numb to outside stimulus, and Jack hadn’t been asking for his help nearly as much recently. Will didn’t know if it was because they had fewer killers out there or if he had been spooked by the close call in the last one. It wasn’t as if Will had never been in the line of fire before, but maybe Jack had realized just how essential his input was and how much of a loss it would be to have Will get shot.

No matter the reasons, Will felt more alone than he ever had before.

It wasn’t the same old ache he had dealt with for years. It was new, like a sense of loss. Abandonment, if he let himself recognize he had allowed expectation. There was a feeling of something missing in his life. He might have been able to fill it with the presence of someone else, but his options were few. That had been by choice at some point, but now it felt like a curse. 

Alana might have been an option in some time past, but no longer as she was experiencing mental distress that obviously had something to do with Will. 

He decidedly didn’t care if anything happened to him. He just didn’t want to be alone anymore. He didn’t care what it would take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon


	24. 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know anymore, guys. I don't even know.

Hannibal panted, his hands holding Will down with more strength than Will had expected. His hair was mussed, and fell over his brow. It reminded Will of when he had woken up with a knife to his throat, save for the actual blade.

Will didn’t remember how he had gotten here, but the sight of Hannibal made him grin.

“You’re back,” he said, feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. 

Hannibal’s brow furrowed.

“That was incredibly reckless of you, Will. I warned you before what may happen if you invite entities to inhabit your body. What on earth caused you to take that risk again after what happened last time?”

Will just laughed, feeling like if he didn’t he would sob. 

“Last time,” he said, “You took over for a while, and I woke up feeling better. You were there, and I was glad. I wasn’t alone.”

Understanding flashed through Hannibal’s gaze, and his grip on Will loosened slightly. He pulled away in a minute movement, frowning still.

“You did this to remedy your loneliness?” he asked, sounding something between horrified and in awe.

Will sighed, feeling like he could relax for the first time in about a month. 

He hadn’t expected to ever confess to Hannibal how he had enjoyed having some company, in whatever facet it could be considered. He had felt understood, and almost appreciated. It had even felt like he had been cared for when he had woken up and found out that Hannibal had taken care of him while possessing his body.

It couldn’t be healthy, any of it.

But what choice did he have?

“I met someone you used to haunt,” Will said, instead of answering the question, “Alana recommended her to me as a psychiatrist.”

Hannibal released Will’s shoulders and sat back on his heels, still straddling Will’s hips with his knees. He just looked at Will with an expression Will couldn’t quite translate properly.

“Doctor DuMaurier,” Hannibal said flatly.

Will nodded.

“She said she can’t treat me, after our first session,” Will continued, “because I had asked her too many questions, and knew too much. She wasn’t very comfortable about my nonchalant attitude toward you.”

Hannibal nodded, his gaze fixed on Will, but distant. It was as if he were seeing into Will’s mind and living the memory along with him.

“You are not fond of psychiatrists,” he remembered, “what made you agree to see one?”

Will huffed a soft laugh and tore his gaze away from Hannibal’s maroon eyes. 

“I thought I was going crazy,” he admitted, “I didn’t know if you were real anymore. You disappeared, and I didn’t have anything to anchor me to reality. I couldn’t even talk to Alana, and I suspect that’s your fault.”

Hannibal bowed his head in sheepish agreement. Will allowed his hands to drift closer to his body and rest around Hannibal’s knees. He felt Hannibal’s muscles tense under his hands, but the ghost didn’t look up.

“I don’t want to presume why you felt the need to torment her,” Will said, “I thought you liked her.”

Hannibal pressed his lips together and swallowed.

“I am not prone to jealousy,” he said softly, “or I thought not. It seems you have changed me in that way.”

Will smiled softly.

“You were afraid I’d stop talking to you if I got comfortable talking to her?” he asked.

Hannibal looked up at that. He stared at Will and swallowed nervously again. 

“There are many things I thought you might do if you and her became close,” he confessed, “and I admit they may have been unreasonable fears. I have not had much experience with jealousy, as I said.”

Will nodded. He lifted his hands to the lapels of Hannibal’s suit and rubbed the fabric between his fingers thoughtfully.

“You were angry because she kissed me,” he said.

Hannibal didn’t move or speak in reply. He seemed genuinely ashamed of his actions, which Will appreciated. 

“What I really want to know is why you left me, and were hanging around that killer.”

Hannibal nodded sharply.

“I was afraid of my own jealousy. I thought to distance myself from you in the hopes of severing whatever was trying to tie me to you,” he explained.

Will hummed, feeling how real the fabric of the suit felt between his fingers. It didn’t feel like it wasn’t real.

“And you didn’t think about how I would feel, realizing you left?” he asked sadly.

Hannibal frowned, and his maroon eyes seemed to darken with sadness and regret.

“I had hoped you would forget about me,” he said.

Will pulled hard on the lapels, causing Hannibal to fall into a rough kiss. He hadn’t exactly planned it.

“Liar,” Will said when they parted, “you kept giving Alana the nightmares. If you wanted me to forget about you, you would have left completely.”

Hannibal huffed in surprise, his pupils blowing wide and nearly eclipsing the color. His hands had fallen to the floor on either side of Will’s shoulders to support himself after the fall.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, “I couldn’t bear the thought of you falling for someone else. I couldn’t make myself desert you.”

Will smiled. 

“You just wanted to make me think you did.”

Hannibal kissed him, soft and long. He pulled away after a moment and pressed their foreheads together. He mumbled rapid words of some language Will didn’t know, whispering them fervently and reverently.

“Did you kill anyone when you had me this time?” Will asked with a smirk, breaking the quiet spell they had been in.

Hannibal pulled back slightly and frowned.

“It upset you so much last time,” he said, shaking his head, “I could not bring myself to do it again.”

Will offered a nod of thanks.

“Than why did you come back?” he asked.

Hannibal’s expression grew pained, and he pulled even farther away. Will kept a grip on the lapels of his blazer to keep him close.

“You acted so foolishly, inviting possession,” he accused, “I could not stand by and see you harmed for it. I warned you last time that others might take advantage if you offer yourself in that way.”

Will couldn’t stop from grinning, feeling too happy despite the words.

“Then my plan worked,” he said, “I got you back. It was the only thing I could think of short of a seance or something stupid. I don’t even know if those work on you.”

Hannibal huffed a frustrated laugh. 

“Only if I decide to interact,” he agreed thoughtfully, “I suppose I will have to stay in order to ensure your safety?”

Will’s grin widened. He pulled on the lapels again and kissed Hannibal. It was weird, but felt so entirely right. He hadn’t planned to kiss Hannibal, nor had he really confronted his feelings about the ghost before this moment. He was just too glad to be seeing him, and talking to him, and holding onto him. 

“That’s what I’m saying,” Will agreed, “I am a very reckless person. The only way you can be sure I’m safe is if you stick around to protect me.”

Hannibal sighed, dropping his head down to hide his amusement. A fringe of hair fell over his brow and covered his eyes. Will lifted one hand and brushed it away to look at Hannibal. It still felt somewhat unreal to be finally able to see him again. Will’s mind had been at war with itself so much it felt as if it had been years since he had last set eyes on Hannibal. 

“Have you not considered that I might kill you?” Hannibal asked softly.

Will studied Hannibal’s face and thought about that. 

“Then do it.”

Hannibal’s head snapped up and he met Will’s gaze. His eyes swam with confusion, concern, and hesitance. Will didn’t know what he would do, but he had an idea.

“Why would you tempt fate?” Hannibal asked, sounding almost insulted as he pulled back, “You are aware I have killed many. You cannot be sure I will not kill you as well.”

Will smiled.

“You’re right. I can’t be sure. I just know what you have done so far. So far, you have tried to protect yourself from me, but you haven’t even physically hurt me. I don’t think you intend to harm me. I only tempt fate when I think I hold more cards than it.”

Hannibal smiled bitterly.

“I have never met anyone like you, Will Graham.”

Will hummed.

“I can see that,” he replied, “but I still don’t know how any of this is going to work.”

Hannibal huffed a soft laugh and nodded.

“Nor do I. I suppose it is a journey we shall take together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Searching for the fic's pulse: "I'm losing it! This might be the end! I don't know if I can keep it going!"
> 
> Basically, I have no idea what is happening anymore, and I don't know how much longer the fic is going to be. So, yeah.  
> Maybe if I find an AED or something, this could be longer. As it stands, next chapter might be the last.


	25. 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. I am not entirely pleased with it, but I hope you enjoy it. Thank you all for supporting me and reading this mess.
> 
> Warning: non-consensual drugging in this chapter. Just right at the end.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

The words came from Will’s mouth, and it was odd for him to be aware that they did not originate from his thoughts. Hannibal and he had been experimenting with the whole possession thing, and they had found it was perfectly possible for them to both be conscious while Hannibal possessed Will. It had taken some getting used to, but Will thought it was somewhat fun to watch what Hannibal did. It was like literally seeing things through Hannibal’s eyes, though he supposed they were still technically his own eyes.

“Of course,” Bedelia answered, eyeing the large basket he was holding as she let him in, “I was concerned you would have hard feelings about my refusal to treat you. I was glad to hear that is not the case.”

“Of course,” Hannibal said through Will, “I only regret that you feel you cannot speak with me as your patient anymore. I hope, at least for this evening, we can speak as friends.”

Bedelia was eyeing him, now. Will reminded Hannibal that he didn’t normally talk that way, and she would be able to tell, even if they had only talked once. Hannibal apologized, but Will felt like he wasn’t going to try to change his speaking pattern.

“You are not acting like yourself,” Bedelia noted aloud.

“I apologize,” Hannibal told her, “I am a bit out of sorts today. Would you show me to the kitchen so I may prepare our dinner?”

Bedelia was not convinced, but she nodded and led the way through the house.

_ You already know where it is, don’t you?  _

_ Of course. I am simply trying not to act overly odd for the moment.  _

_ Of course. _

Will mentally rolled his eyes, mentally being the only way he could while Hannibal was in control. 

Once they were in the kitchen, Hannibal thanked Bedelia and began unpacking the basket of ingredients. 

“I do have food in my house, Will,” Bedelia said, sounding a little less suspicious now, and more amused.

Hannibal nodded Will’s head.

“I would not assume you have all the implements to make what I have planned, though. Best to come prepared.”

Bedelia hummed in consideration, seeming content to watch. 

Hannibal moved them slowly, seeming to still be adjusting to the differences a real body had in comparison to his previous existence.

_ Is it really that different? We’re not that different in size. _

_ You are nearly an inch shorter than me. _

_ Oh. I’m sure that makes so much of a difference. You just aren’t used to actually having a body. That’s it, right? You have been a ghost for so long you don’t know how to use my hands now that you have them. _

_ I must focus now, Will. This is no easy dish. _

_ Sure. _

“If you would like a glass of wine while you wait, I selected some specifically for you,” Hannibal said aloud, turning slightly to face Bedelia.

Will nodded to the basket, and Bedelia pulled a few wine glasses from the cupboard. She poured herself a respectable amount and took a light sip. Will was once again struck by how controlled all of her actions were. 

“You did not strike me as a wine man,” Bedelia said walking over to take her seat at a nearby table.

Was this the kind of house rich people had? Separate kitchen and dining tables? Will just had the one small table in his kitchen that served as whatever he needed it to. 

Hannibal allowed Will to answer, excusing it away as needing to focus on the meal, but Will knew he wouldn’t be able to answer without seeming odd.

“I’m not,” Will said, “I prefer whiskey. A friend of mine suggested you are more refined than that. I respect their opinion on such things. They really know more about it than I do.”

Bedelia’s brow furrowed slightly, as she likely noticed the change in Will’s speech pattern. 

“You seem to be doing well,” she noted, “aside from being somewhat out of sorts. Has something changed to help you?”

Will flashed her his best, most brilliant smile, knowing it often made him look slightly terrifying. 

“A friend of mine is back in the area,” he told her, watching as she took another sip of her wine, having nearly finished the glass, “and I really am feeling much better.”

Bedelia raised an eyebrow, and the corners of her mouth tipped down a touch in concern.

“Not the same friend we discussed,” she said hopefully.

Will smiled, but didn’t look up at her. He continued watching what Hannibal was doing with his hands. 

“The same. You know, he was rather disappointed with the way things ended between you two. I found myself a bit jealous, I confess. He really does seem to have some respect for you, which is rare for him, as you know. We came to an agreement rather quickly, as it happens.”

Bedelia was nearly trembling, and her fingers tightened on the stem of the wine glass. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, and she stared openly at Will, as if he were a lion that had waltzed into her house.

“What sort of agreement can one come to with a ghost?”

Will glanced up for a moment, seeing Bedelia pour herself another glass. 

“As a matter of fact, he is something between a regular ghost and an actual demon,” he answered conversationally, “hence the side effects of his residency. There is one tidbit we discovered together that I think you might be interested in learning, though.”

Bedelia took a long drink of her wine in preparation to hear whatever it might be.

“What is that?” she asked, valiantly hiding her fear.

“All he needs in order to enter a protected space is a host body.”

Bedelia froze, watching Will now with barely concealed horror. She was likely calculating exactly what he might mean by that, and what that would in turn mean for her.

“And the agreement,” Will continued, “was that I would allow him one last visit with you, as long as it really is the end. One thing we have in common, Hannibal and I, is how we can be jealous without needing to be.”

“You’ve put something in this wine,” Bedelia said, her posture slowly relaxing as the drug took effect.

Will nodded.

“Like I said, I’m more of a whiskey man. Hannibal hated the idea of putting anything in it, but we agreed it would be the easiest way. He knows how much you enjoy wine.”

Bedelia slumped onto the table, and Will watched with casual curiosity. She looked so much different when she was not in control of herself. It was almost unnatural to see, as if it was something that should not exist. 

_ That went well. _

_ I thought so. What are we making? _

_ I hope you are not averse to using a new type of meat for this recipe. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a poll on my tumblr to help me decide what fic to start posting next, now that this one is done. I'd love to hear what you all want.
> 
> https://william-teddy-grahams.tumblr.com/post/626354031181381632/fanfic-poll
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


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